


Free of Any Eden

by excelgesis



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Destiny, Fate, M/M, Reincarnation, Second Chances, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 20:25:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 49,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12140439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excelgesis/pseuds/excelgesis
Summary: It is the year 1744, and Cha Hakyeon and Jung Taekwoon both crave the freedom of dance. With Hakyeon born the only son of a middle-class astronomer, and Taekwoon born as nephew to the King, neither are truly free to choose. A hesitant agreement brings them together, but when emotions run high and they become closer than either would have expected, dance is only an excuse to spend time with the other.When Taekwoon’s departure from the capital city drives Hakyeon to near insanity, the repressed affection and shame drive him to take his own life – And he wakes up in a flowery eden, neither alive nor dead, surrounded by others who had ended their lives too soon. With the power to feel the affection of the living bestowed as a punishment and a lesson, Hakyeon ekes out an existence in this Waiting Place. And when his lesson has been learned, Hakyeon is dropped into the heart of 2017 Seoul for another chance at life.But Jung Taekwoon, the cold son of a wealthy CEO, finds himself inexplicably drawn again and again to the strange boy whose eyes hold two hundred years of pain.And Hakyeon dreams of Taekwoon in period dress, dancing under pale moonlight in a time long forgotten...





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will have mentions of suicide as an underlying theme and plot device. I will try to touch on the topic as delicately as possible. 
> 
> If you think this will be triggering to you in any way, please consider this your warning and read with caution.

          He could remember light gilding the edges of half a dozen exposed blades, the scent of blossoms thick in the warm air, and the grainy dirt beneath the soles of his shoes. He could remember every meeting, every touch, every softly spoken word. It all stood out in sharp relief, as sharp as the shadows of the palace roof in the noontime sun. And he was angry. Angry that the feelings still forced hot tears from his eyes when he had been so certain that he could end it. Angry that even here, in this cruel space between life and death, he wasn’t able to forget.

****

          It was a balmy spring in the 20th year of King Yeongjo’s reign. Through his open bedroom window, Hakyeon could see branches dripping with blossoms, bent low as if shouldering the season’s burden. A warm breeze lifted his hair from his shoulders as he secured his outer jacket in place. It was his finest – sky blue and lightweight – and he was glad his father had demanded that he wear it today. It had always been his favorite.

          Approaching footsteps sounded from the outer walkway, and Hakyeon nearly jumped in panic. His hands flew to his hair, scrambling to gather it atop his head before his father walked by.

          “You slept with your hair unfastened again.” It wasn’t a question.

          Hakyeon bit his lip and lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

          His father sighed. “You are old enough to know right from wrong. I should not have to tell you again and again. Your coming-of-age ceremony was years ago.”

          “I know, father. I’m sorry,” Hakyeon repeated, ducking his head. A lock of hair fell from his grasp and swung against his shoulder. His hair had been secured into a stiff topknot on the day he came of age, and his father stood by the firm belief that it should be undone for bathing only. Hakyeon hated the way the hairstyle tugged at his scalp day and night, and preferred to tie his hair back with a ribbon at the nape of his neck. He often slept with his hair unfastened completely, even after each scolding stung like needles on skin.

          His father’s voice was curt when he replied. “Finish up quickly then.” He turned away without another word.

          Hakyeon grimaced and pulled his hair up as tightly as he could, fastening it in place and pressing the headband flat against his forehead. And although he was still bewildered that horsehair hats were swiftly becoming more of an accessory and less of a status symbol, he opted to wear his in the hopes that it would keep the sun out of his eyes.

          His father was waiting for him near the courtyard exit, arms laden with scrolls and the tools he used to track the stars. They were placed into a cloth bag that Hakyeon obediently slung over one shoulder. He wanted to complain about the weight and the jittery anxiety that coursed through his veins, but he knew to hold his tongue. What kind of son would he be if he wasn’t willing to help his own father at a time like this?

          When all government-appointed astronomers had received a summons to the palace, Hakyeon had assumed that it wouldn’t concern him in the slightest. And it didn’t, if he was being absolutely truthful. He was more like a human handcart, carrying his father’s equipment down the packed dirt road without protest. Of course he had been trained under his father’s gaze, as unforgiving as the rural magistrates who siphoned taxes from the poor. Hakyeon could read the heavens the way he read a book. But he did not belong with a group of dedicated astronomers standing before the king. That was his father’s place.

          He narrowly avoided a collision with a local official and ducked his head in apology before jogging to catch up with his father. The palace was close now, and he imagined its shadow reaching, stretching to impossible lengths to wrap around his ankles. He had never once been past the palace gates, and the jittery anxiety from before had morphed into an icy fear. He knew that King Yeongjo was a benevolent monarch; Joseon had been blessed with peace for as long as he could remember. But there was something off-putting about the elegant way in which royals carried themselves. Hakyeon knew he was nothing before them, and it was terrifying to feel so small.

          “Remember your place,” his father cautioned.

          Hakyeon felt his heart in his throat. “I will stay in the courtyard.”

          They passed by the guards and through the gates. Stones were laid to create a walkway bustling with activity. They were forced to weave through court ladies and servants, each with hairstyles and clothing unique to their rank. His father knew who to address, and a group of guards led them through raised doorways and past still ponds. The room in which his father was to address the king was guarded by two court ladies, who bowed low when they approached. Hakyeon lifted the cloth bag from his shoulder and gave it to his father with shaking hands. He knew his nerves were irrational, but he balked nonetheless at the idea of waiting there alone. The doors were pulled closed behind his father’s retreating back. He swallowed.

          “My father asked that I wait in the courtyard.” He managed to keep his voice steady, though he couldn’t imagine how.

          The guards eyed him but said nothing, escorting him to the nearest open square. They retreated to the walkway, but Hakyeon could feel goosebumps rising along his neck as their watchful eyes never left his back. He knew that, as the son of a government astronomer, he wasn’t much. The only one in line to take his father’s place, he would be stuck one step below the upper class for the rest of his life. But his father’s position still demanded respect, and he did not appreciate being watched from afar like a suspicious commoner. He took a breath and strode to a low stone archway, feigning confidence while his stomach twisted inside out.

          The stones framed a green expanse dotted with short, blossoming trees and a pond that shifted as it danced with the wind. His courage pulled taut and snapped, so he settled for simply leaning against the archway with a sigh. It was a beautiful view that helped soothe the frayed edges of his nerves, but he let his eyes slip closed and imagined that the darkness behind his eyelids was the deep black of midnight. His father had taught him to appreciate night for the stars. He appreciated it more for the lack of pretense. It was a time when he could unfasten his hair and stare at the ceiling, imagining a place where the harsh lines of “if” and “maybe” smoothed out into lovely certainties. It was a place where music caught on the breeze, shaking tree branches and weaving its way into his blood. He moved with this melody, or perhaps it moved with him, and society wasn’t there to watch.

          In this place he was a performer, an artist, capable of weaving intricate stories with the movements of his body alone. He was lighter than air and on the highest of highs, all pressure to succeed his father gone. The heavens were interesting, but music and dance – these were as much a part of him as his heart and lungs. He felt the rhythm of drums under his feet, he inhaled the piercing tones of wooden flutes –

          He opened his eyes with a start and pressed his palms against the archway to stay upright. The music was still drifting through the air, unbroken by his shift in perception. He squinted as his eyes struggled to adjust.

          A group of gisaeng were poised near the glassy pond, flanked by a handful of musicians. Sunlight ran along the edges of star-bright swords clasped in the women’s delicate hands. He stared as they began to move, arms raised high above their heads as if aiming to catch the clouds. The swords dipped and spun and Hakyeon was entranced. Their skirts shifted with each step. The ornaments in their hair winked in the dappled light. Their movements were full of a searing emotion that Hakyeon could nearly touch. His chest ached with envy.

          The dance came to an abrupt halt as one of the women giggled and ducked her head. She said something, but Hakyeon was just out of earshot and could pick up nothing but the rising and falling cadence of her voice. He tilted his head. Perhaps they were practicing? He waited for the dance to resume, feet tapping impatiently against the packed dirt. It occurred to him belatedly that he shouldn’t be watching, but it was far too late and he was tired of betraying his every desire.

          Several of the women stepped to the side, swords swinging delicately on their fingertips. Hakyeon blinked. There was a man with them, dressed in royal golds and purples. His pristine topknot made his sharp eyes appear sharper, and Hakyeon felt his stomach turn to ice. What would become of him if he was caught staring like this? He took several shaky steps backward.

          The man didn’t look his way, instead turning to face one of the gisaeng as he conversed with her in low tones. She raised a hand to hide her smile. Even from this distance, Hakyeon could see the admiration in her eyes as she glanced up at the man demurely. The others followed suit, looking up at him through their lashes with their heads angled downward. The one he had spoken to raised her arms and performed a move slowly. Hakyeon watched in wonder as the man imitated her movements, lithely twisting the sword in his right hand. The women giggled and nodded their approval.

          A man dancing with gisaeng? Was such a thing allowed? Hakyeon squinted, as if the action might help him see through the cloud of confusion. The man was obviously of high status, yet he was lowering himself to the same level as mere court entertainers?

          One of the women turned her head to the side and Hakyeon’s stomach twisted into a knot. They made eye contact, the gisaeng lifting an eyebrow and tilting her head back.

          “And who do you think you are?” She raised her voice so it could bridge the distance between them.

          Another of the women turned to face him. “Spying on court ladies?” She scoffed.

          Hakyeon pushed back the uneasiness that rose in his throat. Gisaeng were legally of the slave class and had no right to speak to him that way, and he knew it. But that didn’t stop the anxiety from rooting itself in his chest.

          “My father is here for an audience with the king. I am simply waiting for him to finish.” He mirrored the women by tilting his head back.

          To his surprise, the women didn’t reply, opting instead to turn toward the man expectantly. Hakyeon could see him shake his head. The gisaeng frowned and threw one last look in Hakyeon’s direction before signaling the musicians. The melody started up again, and they resumed their fluid movements.

          Hakyeon watched, transfixed, as the man in purple followed each and every step with concentration. His dancing was graceful and precise. Something about it reminded Hakyeon of the way a river ran: powerful yet smooth, with a tenacity that overcame everything in its path.

          The man swept his sword in a low arc, his gaze meeting Hakyeon’s as he rose. Hakyeon lowered his eyes and shrunk back against the archway. His chest was tight with a strange mixture of envy, admiration, and curiosity. His eyes were drawn to the dancers again and again, a moth transfixed by a flame.

          The music ended all too soon, and the women sheathed their swords and bowed to the man. He bid them farewell and watched for several moments as they skirted the edge of the pond, walking in the opposite direction.

          Hakyeon exhaled a shaky breath and retreated to the dirt courtyard, his pulse drumming in his ears. He had nearly reached the group of waiting guards when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He yelped, and his heart ended up lodged somewhere in his throat. Fear snuck through his veins like snake venom.

          “I think an explanation is necessary.” The voice was stern, but Hakyeon was taken aback by the softness of it. He turned in surprise, his gaze locking with that of the elegant royal. His long outer jacket – dyed a deep purple with a sunshine gold pattern – fluttered in the warm breeze. The ice in his eyes stood in stark contrast to his delicate voice.

          Hakyeon immediately lowered his gaze. “An explanation?”

          “You had no right interrupting our practice. It isn’t your place.” His voice was positively musical and soft as petals on the breeze. Hakyeon found himself glancing upward again. How could such a voice belong to a royal?

          “I hadn’t meant to interrupt; I was simply admiring--”

          The man raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

          Hakyeon bit his lip. Curiosity burned as steady as a lantern flame in the back of his mind. A man dancing with gisaeng? Were certain things allowed behind the palace gates that the rest of the country didn’t know about?

          “I wasn’t aware that princes were allowed to dance with gisaeng.” The words were out before he had thought properly about them. His hands flew up to cover his mouth on instinct, and he took several steps backward, bowing as he went. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean--”

          “The Crown Prince is my cousin.” The man clasped his hands behind his back. “I myself am hardly a prince.”

          Hakyeon’s continuous bowing came to a halt as he eyed the man once more. He stared back with an expression that was difficult to decipher. Hakyeon could feel his curiosity getting the better of him now. He had never expected to encounter such an intriguing royal, but this man had eyes like winter and a voice like spring, and all initial sparks of anxiety were beginning to disappear from Hakyeon’s chest.

          “Do members of the royal bloodline always perform the sword dance with court entertainers?” Hakyeon kept his voice low.

          The man’s eyes were guarded, and he stared at Hakyeon for several seconds before replying. “That is not your business.” His voice had lost all sharp edges of stern authority, leaving behind the smoother edges of something akin to uncertainty. He was the first to look away.

          Hakyeon opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again when he realized there was not much he could say. He knew it was not his place to pry, and the man seemed determined to dodge all of Hakyeon’s questions. The image of him dancing played again across his mind, as clear and bright as the sunlight reflected in the pond. His movements had been so sure and precise, so full of confidence, that it was difficult for Hakyeon to believe that this reserved man in front of him could possibly be the same person.

          “I believe we’re finished.” The man was still looking away from Hakyeon, his gaze seemingly fixed on the stone walkway. He turned with a flutter of richly colored silk and began to walk away.

          The conversation had been much too short, and curiosity still gripped Hakyeon’s chest with a tenacious hold. He had more questions than ever before, but he knew his place in the social strata well and would not risk running after a member of the royal bloodline. A parting comment would have to suffice. Hakyeon settled on both a compliment and a truth, wrapped neatly into one.

          “Your dancing,” he began, keeping his voice soft.

          The man paused.

          Hakyeon took a breath. “It was beautiful. Undeniably so.”

          The man turned his head to the side, lips parted as if he were about to speak. The moment hung there, suspended in the humid spring air, swaying on the end of a frayed thread.

          Hakyeon could nearly hear the thread snap as time lurched forward again. The man said nothing, turned his head forward, and continued walking. Hakyeon took note of the set of his shoulders, the way his head rose as he entered the palace. He turned on to a covered walkway, silks billowing behind his heels like clouds at sunset. Hakyeon thought they made eye contact for the briefest of instants, but the royal passed behind a support pillar, and perhaps he had merely imagined it.

****

          The encounter was seared into Hakyeon’s memory for days. His father snapped at him multiple times during his studies, scolding him for his listless and disinterested behavior. He completed his household chores as if half asleep, his hands working automatically as his mind drifted again and again. It was honestly upsetting, how a royal who moved like water and spoke like a spring breeze could disrupt his train of thought in mere moments. Hakyeon knew he would never see him again. Analyzing his intricacies was useless. Thinking of him at all was useless.

          He repeated it like a mantra in his head as he rifled through rolls of parchment at the local printer’s shop. His father had sent him out for daily errands – as he often did – and his mind was wandering through the merchant’s dimly-lit shelves. The shop was too warm and too humid, and he was tired of his restless thoughts, so he grabbed a roll at random and toted it to the front of the room.

          The door creaked open, bringing with it a wave of muggy air. Hakyeon didn’t look up from his transaction with the shopkeeper. He dropped a quick bow in the merchant’s direction before tucking the parchment under his arm and turning to leave.

          The customer at the door raised a hand, blocking Hakyeon’s path. His sleeves were made from a delicate sapphire silk, much too fine for the humble printer’s shop. A local magistrate, Hakyeon figured. They made their rounds several times a month, and weren’t known for their kind hearts. He cleared his throat and ducked his head, moving to the side to make room.

          “I’d like a word with you.” That soft, musical voice.

          An odd sort of panic arced through Hakyeon’s veins. His eyes met those of the elegant royal, all ice and thinly veiled curiosity. Hakyeon took one step back and then another, his mouth suddenly dry. Was he about to be dragged to the palace to face his punishment for spying? That seemed a little excessive; he hadn’t gained knowledge of trade secrets or royal scandals. Surely watching a dance practice didn’t warrant a harsh consequence? He could feel his fingers start to tremble.

          The royal raised an eyebrow.

          “I need to return to my father.” Hakyeon was amazed when his voice didn’t shake.

          “I only ask for a moment.”

          Hakyeon let his gaze drop. He was insatiably curious about this royal, but was also aware of the thin ice he was stepping on. He glanced back at the shopkeeper, who was watching them with raised eyebrows and a guarded expression. Hakyeon knew he could not refuse. The merchant knew his father well, and news that Hakyeon had denied a royal’s request would spread throughout the town by nightfall.

          He let out a soft sigh. “Of course. A moment would be fine.”

          The royal dropped his hand and pushed the door open. Hakyeon followed him out, keeping a tight grip on the roll of parchment tucked under his arm. His father was expecting it soon; he could always use it as an excuse to leave. He trailed behind without a word as the man rounded the corner of the print shop to stand in the meager shade it threw across the dirt.

          “Who do you think you are?”

          Hakyeon thought the question sounded harsher than usual when asked in such a feathery voice. His head snapped upward in surprise. “Excuse me?”

          The royal’s mouth turned down at the corners. “It seems you’re doing it again.”

          Hakyeon squinted as his mind struggled to keep up. The man didn’t seem angry; his voice was laced with a simple curiosity and his head was tilted to one side. He was surveying Hakyeon the way he had often seen his father survey the stars: intensely, with an inquisitiveness that could never be sated. The situation in its entirety left Hakyeon’s thoughts spinning.

          “It seems I’m doing what again?” He asked.

          “Speaking to me as if you know me.” The royal’s eyebrows lowered. “Forgetting your place so easily. That day in the palace, you questioned me as if you had the right--”

          Hakyeon felt ice in his veins. “I’m so sorry, I honestly didn’t mean--”

          “Interrupting me.” The man raised an eyebrow. “There’s another.” His tone still carried that light curiosity, like a scholar making observations about the writings of Confucius.

          Hakyeon blinked and looked away, his chest constricting. He knew he had overstepped his boundaries, but the man’s soft tone was utterly misleading. Hakyeon wasn’t sure if he was being chastised, warned, evaluated, or a strange combination of all three. He swallowed. "I'm sorry, honestly..." The apology trailed off when he realized it had fallen from his tongue without much thought.

          "Your actions don't match your words," the royal replied flatly.

          Hakyeon let out a breath and met the man's gaze. "I'm not sure which actions you would prefer." It felt as if the man were speaking to him in riddles, and he had nearly reached his wit's end.

          The man blinked several times, as if Hakyeon's words had taken him by surprise. His eyebrows lowered over sharp, dark eyes. "I'd like you to explain."

          "Explain what?"

          "Explain yourself."

          Hakyeon knew he needed to keep his composure in front of a member of the royal family, but his grip tightened around the roll of parchment beneath his arm and he could feel frustration gaining the upper hand. "What about myself would you like me to explain?" He had to stop himself from adding a sarcastic " _your highness_ " to the end of his question.

          "Why were you watching us so intently that day? Do you not fear the consequences? I could have reported you for espionage."

          Hakyeon's blood ran icy cold. "I'm not a spy, I swear it!"

          The man held up a hand. "You're the son of a court astronomer, and much too unassuming if I'm being frank." His voice still carried that curious tone, devoid of any accusatory edge.

          "H-how do you know that?" Hakyeon felt his face flush at the stutter and mentally cursed himself.

          The royal lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug. "All the citizens in this part of town know who you are. I only had to ask."

          Hakyeon wasn't sure how he should have felt. There was an insatiable curiosity burning at the forefront of his mind, but it was watered down by instinct, logic, and his father's every warning to remember his place. This royal's feathery voice did not change his role in society, any more than Hakyeon's fiery attitude changed his.

          The royal raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

          Hakyeon's father's voice rang in his ears. He let his gaze drop to his feet. "I was at the palace waiting for my father to finish his counsel with the king. A meteor is thought to be heading this way, and its appearance in the sky has great meaning for the monarch of Joseon--"

          "I'm not interested in that." A voice as soft as petals on water. "I asked you to explain yourself."

          Hakyeon sighed and levelled a glare in the royal's direction. How could he remember his place when this man was so infinitely infuriating? "I'm explaining myself now; you're the one who interrupted me."

          The man opened his mouth to reply, but shut it again after several seconds. He pursed his lips and waved to signal that Hakyeon should continue.

          "I was waiting in the courtyard for my father to return. I happened to see the gisaeng dancing and... It was beautiful to watch. Surely that isn't a sin?" Hakyeon held the man's gaze.

          The royal stared back. "What interest could an astronomer's son have in dancing?" He sounded as if he were asking the question to himself. His eyes shifted to the side.

          "Is that really your business?" The question had fallen from Hakyeon's lips before he had thought properly. He stiffened, but something told him this royal wouldn't reprimand him for it.

          He heard the man let out a breath. "I suppose it isn't."

          Hakyeon crossed his arms. There were a dozen questions he had for this quiet royal, but he knew asking would be futile.

          "There are festivals with music and dancing every year." The royal's tone was pensive. "Surely you can dance then?"

          Hakyeon blinked. "I don't understand how that pertains to this."

          "You seem to be interested in dancing."

          "So do you." Hakyeon kept his arms crossed, the roll of parchment tucked under his elbow threatening to drop to the dirt at any moment.

          "Is that really your business?" The royal's tone held an almost mocking edge.

          Hakyeon raised a brow. "I suppose it isn't."

          The man very nearly laughed at the reversal in roles, his lips turning up at one corner and his eyes shifting downward. Hakyeon had never thought before of a stoic royal showing any sort of emotion. The surprise he felt was almost comical.

          "Have I explained myself well enough?" Hakyeon kept his voice even so as not to betray his innermost thoughts.

          The royal's gaze turned back to him. "I don't think so."

          Hakyeon's comic surprise instantly morphed to exasperation. "What else do you want to know?"

          "What else are you willing to tell me?"

          Hakyeon eyed him from head to toe, hoping that the action would give him any more insight to the royal's intentions. If he refused to continue the conversation, would he pay a hefty price later? But surely he had explained himself well enough by now?

          He cocked his head to one side and decided to take the risk. "I believe I've said enough."

          The man blinked and stood stock still. A warm breeze stole past the printer's shop, rustling his sapphire jacket. He said nothing and simply stood, eyeing Hakyeon with that same unbridled curiosity.

          Hakyeon held his gaze steady and gestured toward the roll of parchment still stuck under his arm. The conversation seemed to have ended, and he knew that any of his own burning questions would never hear answers. "I'd best be returning to my father." He turned on his heel and headed toward home.

          "I could teach you." The statement was said in the softest of voices, carried toward Hakyeon on the spring breeze. He stopped.

          "What?" Hakyeon asked the breeze, still turned away from the man.

          "I could teach you. The dance. Only if you'd like."

          Hakyeon turned, his mind alight with confusion. "What are you--"

          "I can rescind the offer if you'd rather not," the royal said softly. His eyes were still fixed on Hakyeon, bright with something he couldn't place.

          "Is this some sort of trap?" Hakyeon raised both eyebrows and prayed that his voice sounded as incredulous as he felt. A member of the royal family teaching him to dance? It was absolutely outrageous.

          The man merely blinked again, eyes wide. "Of course it isn't."

          Hakyeon scoffed. The proposal was ludicrous and he shoved away the tiny bit of excitement that had blossomed in his chest at the idea. "I'm sorry, but I'll have to refuse." He turned again, but the roll of parchment slid from his arm and headed for the dirt. He cursed under his breath and scrambled to regain his hold, but the paper fell to the ground with an uneventful thud.

          Hakyeon reached for the roll, but it was already in the royal's hand. He held it out toward him with a raised eyebrow.

          "Thank you," Hakyeon mumbled.

          "You won't reconsider?"

          Hakyeon frowned and grabbed the parchment. What right did this man have to get his hopes up for something so impossible? "I'm sorry but I really don't think--"

          The man inclined his head and clasped his hands behind his back, the picture of collected royalty. "I'm sorry for offering then." He glanced up, his eyes still bright with that insatiable _something_.

          Hakyeon opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, but the man had already turned, sapphire silk fluttering in the afternoon wind.

****

          Hakyeon thought about it for days and nights on end. The opportunity to learn a court dance from a member of the royal family; had he been foolish to decline? But the voice of reason rang in his ears, warning him that it was a setup, a trap, a clever way to lure him into the bowels of the country's prison for espionage. But then he thought of those sincere eyes and that spring-breeze voice, so delicate and inviting. Could a man like that really harm him at all?

          After a fortnight of worrying and contemplating to the point of near insanity, Hakyeon decided that he had made the wrong choice. He should have given the royal a chance, if only once. The desire to move, to feel music in his blood until he could think of nothing else, had come to overpower everything. Would he ever get a chance like this again?

          He ran errands for his father in earnest, searching the streets for the elegant royal. Would his offer still stand? Hakyeon hoped it would. He had begun to feel foolish for declining in the first place, but logic had shouted too loudly in his head. It had been silenced now, and he knew that was wrong. He knew it was dangerous and reckless, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He would get to dance, really and truly dance with total abandon, and he couldn't get the thought out of his mind.

          It was another muggy spring day when he finally met the royal again. He had volunteered to go to the market, a list of things his father needed clasped tightly in his hand. He ran his fingers over ginger and seaweed, trying to determine which was the most fresh. He had never been great at it, and eventually just chose wares at random to fill his basket.

          He had wandered toward a local fabric merchant's stall when he saw him. He was dressed in pale yellow with his hands behind his back, sharp eyes turned toward Hakyeon from his position at the end of the dirt street. He inclined his head when Hakyeon met his gaze.

          Hakyeon felt his stomach turn to water. The entire thing seemed silly now: a proposal to teach dance? To someone of lower status? The logical thoughts that had been silenced for so long crashed back with a vengeance, and it all became laughable. He turned away from the royal, ducking his head and gripping his basket with both hands. He kept his eyes fixed on the wares at the fabric stall, pretending to be interested in a bolt of purple silk.

          He saw the royal approach from the corner of his eye. He said nothing, simply standing next to Hakyeon in his usual pose: hands clasped behind his back, head slightly turned toward the ground. Hakyeon bit his lip and turned his attention toward another bolt of fabric. How had all of his confidence in the idea abandoned him so quickly?

          "It may rain later on." That petal-soft voice.

          Hakyeon frowned. Was he honestly talking about the weather?

          "The woods due east of here are peaceful after rain. Just after sunset in particular. That's where I'll be if your mind has changed."

          Hakyeon felt his temper flare like a flame meeting lantern oil. Yes, the man was a royal, but what right did he have to pester Hakyeon about this? He was conflicted enough without that breezy voice in his head. He knew nothing about this man's sincerity. He knew nothing about this man at all. But his mind betrayed him again and again with thoughts of music and dance.

          "The woods are dangerous after dark," Hakyeon said simply. He was not about to let this royal know how torn he was.

          The other only hummed in response.

          "I'd best be going." Hakyeon turned away, both hands still gripped tightly around the handle of his basket.

          He felt a gentle tug on his sleeve and paused. The royal tugged again, the fabric caught between delicate fingers.

          Hakyeon sighed. "Yes?"

          "The woods are only dangerous when one is alone."

          Hakyeon's temper sparked again. He whirled on the man, eyes bright. "Why are you being so insistent about this? I already made my refusal plain."

          The fabric merchant stared, eyes wide. Hakyeon realized belatedly that the entire market would likely have turned attention to them, and he felt his face flush. He lowered his voice. "I made my refusal plain. I'm sure refusing a royal isn't a crime. I'm heading home now." His mind fought back as he turned, conjuring up images of dancing under pale moonlight without a care in the world. He shook his head and walked away.

          The royal had been right. Rain began to fall in sheets as Hakyeon and his father finished dinner, and he could still hear it tapping against the dirt as he tried to sleep. The man's voice echoed in his head: "The woods are only dangerous when one is alone." He could nearly see him out there, sitting underneath a low-hanging branch while rain soaked the shoulders of his elegant outer jacket. Surely he wouldn't really visit the woods in rain like this?

          Hakyeon sat up in bed, palms pressed against his eyes. He was tired, tired of thoughts running rampant, tired of images and scenes playing behind his eyes. Tired of hearing that _voice_ again and again, tired of his heart and bones nearly aching at the thought of escaping, moving, soaring.

          He sighed. What else could he do? What would stop the thoughts from cycling? He stood and reached for his outer jacket. Was it a rash decision? Of course. Was it reckless, stupid, and brazen? Yes. But what else could he do?

          He snagged a length of ribbon and used it to secure his hair at the nape of his neck. After tugging on his jacket and ensuring that his father was asleep, he slipped on his shoes and headed for the eastern woods.

          He was soaked from head to foot by the time he reached the forest's edge, but the rain had subsided along the way and seemed to be content with remaining at a gentle drizzle. There was only one pathway among the trees, and he followed it, his shoes leaving prints in the soft dirt.

          He heard him before he saw him. It began as a gentle humming, a fairy's melody amongst the silver trees. Then came the soft _whoosh_ of movement, of fabric on fabric. Hakyeon rounded a bend in the path and found him, bathed in liquid moonlight.

          He had a folding fan in one hand, grasping it delicately as he moved. He was humming quietly to himself. Rain water dripped from the ends of his crimson sleeves.

          Hakyeon watched, entranced, as he dipped and twirled, fan cutting through the air and shoes leaving tracks in the earth. He danced as if he cared about nothing else. He hummed beautifully, the sound breathing life into every movement.

          Hakyeon cleared his throat. He felt terrible about breaking the moment of magic, but he had come here for a reason and was about to lose his nerve.

          The royal's head snapped up, eyes bright. "You came."

          Hakyeon frowned. "You don't seem surprised."

          The man straightened and snapped the fan closed in his hand. Hakyeon thought he looked otherworldly like this, with his sharp eyes and the moonlight dancing across the raindrops in his hair.

          "That's because I'm not particularly surprised."

          "Why?" Hakyeon took a step forward.

          The royal mirrored him. "I'm not sure." His tone was bemused, and his forehead creased as if in deep thought. "I'm not sure..." His voice trailed off.

          Hakyeon gestured, hoping the action took in the situation as a whole. "So this is what you do then? Risk catching a cold just so you can dance in the rain after dark?"

          The man fidgeted with the fan. "This is the only time I have for myself."

          Hakyeon was about to retort when he realized that he knew just how that felt. To save midnight for oneself, to lose all pretense in that velvety darkness. He took a breath. "Surely you can do whatever you'd like in the palace's walls in the day?"

          "Surely not," the royal said softly.

          Their gazes moved in lockstep.

          Hakyeon reached for the folding fan and the other gave it up easily. He unfolded it, watching as the moonlight glittered off its intricate design. "What is dancing to you that you would risk coming all the way out here just to have it?" He murmured.

          "I could ask you the same."

          Hakyeon laughed, a puff of air through smiling lips. "I suppose you could."

          The royal reached toward the fan and pushed it closed in Hakyeon's hand. "So this means you've accepted my offer?"

          "Yes." Hakyeon sighed. "I could think of nothing else. Although I'm still wary about all of this."

          The man's eyebrows rose. "Wary? Why?"

          "I don't know you or what you stand for. This could all be a cruel trick."

          "I assure you it isn't."

          "And I assure you that I won't believe that without proof."

          The royal wrapped his fingers around Hakyeon's wrist, raising both of their arms high into the chilly air. Hakyeon started and nearly stepped backward.

          "Let me prove it then."

          It continued like that for minutes that stretched into hours. Hakyeon gripped the folding fan - "Safer than dancing with swords," the man had said - and the royal coached him through each and every movement, adjusting his arms and posture when they weren't quite right.

          And Hakyeon reveled in it. He savored every movement, every twist and turn, every breath of wind against his skin. Every step was the sweetest drug, every flick of his wrist the purest alcohol. He was positively drunk on dance, and he couldn't get enough.

          "You have a talent for this," the royal murmured after what felt like lifetimes. "Much more so than I do."

          Hakyeon smiled at the praise. "I highly doubt that."

          The man glanced toward his feet before meeting Hakyeon's gaze. His hand came forward to tuck a loose lock of hair behind Hakyeon's ear. Hakyeon felt his face heat up at the surprisingly intimate gesture from someone he barely knew.

          "What's your name?"

          The question was sudden, and Hakyeon blinked for a few seconds before his mind caught up. "Hakyeon."

          "Taekwoon." The royal's smile was as soft as his voice. "It's nice to finally meet you."

          Hakyeon felt something in his chest. "Likewise."

****

          It continued in that manner for the happiest months of Hakyeon's short life. At the end of each week, he snuck to the forest on feather-light feet to meet Taekwoon. Moonlight glinted off of gilded folding fans as they danced. Taekwoon's soft voice crept through the trees, humming a soft melody that continued to play in Hakyeon's head long after he returned home.

          The humming eventually morphed into conversation, initiated by Hakyeon in the beginning. He was curious about this quiet royal who danced through moonlit trees. Many of his inquiries were met with gentle hums and noncommittal shrugs, and Hakyeon learned to take it in stride. Taekwoon was the type to speak only when he had something important to say, and idle chatter about himself did not seem important enough.

          It took several more weeks for Taekwoon to open up, but Hakyeon felt the strangest fluttering in his chest whenever he did. He asked about Hakyeon mostly, and none of Hakyeon's answers seemed to quench his endless curiosity. He would stare at him with those bright eyes, scanning his face for everything and nothing.

          "Why do you wear your hair down?" Taekwoon asked once.

          Hakyeon paused mid-movement and glanced at him. "I'm comfortable this way. It suits me more than a topknot does."

          Taekwoon's head tilted to one side. "I suppose it does." He reached out for Hakyeon's wrist, stopping his dancing and pulling him several steps closer.

          Hakyeon jumped. "Yes?"

          Taekwoon tugged at the ribbon in Hakyeon's hair and pulled it loose. Hakyeon could feel his hair cascade around his shoulders. The wind blew it across his eyes and coaxed it into tangles.

          "I think this suits you best of all," Taekwoon said.

          Hakyeon could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "And why is that?"

          Taekwoon's eyes were bright again, bright with that insatiable something that Hakyeon could never put his finger on. "It just does." He moved to sit on the ground, as they often did when they felt dancing had run its course. He tugged at Hakyeon's wrist as an invitation to sit next to him.

          Hakyeon obliged, resting against the nearest tree trunk and tilting his head back to take in the dappled starry sky. "The night sky is beautiful, isn't it?"

          Taekwoon hummed. "I'd expect nothing less to come from an astronomer's son."

          "You don't find it lovely?"

          "I think there are lovelier things," he replied simply.

          Hakyeon cocked his head to one side. "Such as?"

          Taekwoon looked at the ground and leaned until his shoulder rested against Hakyeon's. "Just...things."

          Hakyeon grinned and rested his head on the other's shoulder. It wasn't often that Taekwoon initiated contact like this. He felt Taekwoon stiffen and immediately pulled back. "Should I not?"

          Taekwoon was silent for several seconds. "It's fine," he whispered. When Hakyeon returned his head to his shoulder, Taekwoon leaned his head against Hakyeon's.

          "You know," Hakyeon teased, jabbing at Taekwoon's arm with a finger. "I'm quite glad you didn't say that I was one of those things lovelier than the stars."

          Taekwoon shifted. "Why?"

          "I would have been concerned for your judgement. What's lovely about a simple astronomer's son?"

          "Everything" was Taekwoon's short reply, and Hakyeon felt his stomach do strange things.

          "That's ridiculous," he said, slightly breathless.

          "I don't think so." Taekwoon hummed and ran his fingertips along the back of Hakyeon's hand.

          Hakyeon felt his heart in his throat. What could this elegant royal possibly see in him? And what did all of it mean? Their relationship had settled into something comfortable and routine, and Hakyeon felt he could share anything with the other. Gone were the thoughts of traps and subversion, and in their place had come to rest a comfort that Hakyeon had never thought possible.

          "Taekwoon?" He whispered. He could tell that his breath had ghosted along Taekwoon's neck by the way he shivered afterward.

           "Hmmm?"

          Hakyeon moved his hand to rest lightly on top of the other's. "What are we, exactly? How would one define this?"

          A pause. "I'm not sure." He pulled back to look at Hakyeon with bright eyes.

          Hakyeon stared back. "Neither am I."

          A slow blink, then two and three. Hakyeon could feel Taekwoon's breath on his face, could see the moonlight reflected in his eyes. Taekwoon leaned forward a fraction of an inch. Hakyeon did, too, and he was sure he wanted this--

          A snap. The rustle of fabric and the light of a bright lantern. Taekwoon jumped and scrambled to his feet, palms flat against the tree trunk behind him.

          "What is it?" Hakyeon's heart hammered against his ribs. He turned toward the light and could just make out a young servant girl, a shawl draped over her head and a flickering lantern clasped in her hand. She gasped and stumbled backward, turning in haste and scurrying back toward town.

          "Minhee," Taekwoon muttered. "A servant from the palace."

          Hakyeon balked. "What on earth was she doing out here at this time of night?"

          Taekwoon sighed and sank back to the ground. His head fell into his hands. "I'm sure the Crown Prince sent her to spy. Last week he questioned me on my way back into the palace."

          Hakyeon's stomach turned to water. "Questioned?"

          "He was waiting outside my quarters when I got in. He asked where I had been sneaking off to for the past several months." His voice was strained.

          "W-what did you say to him...?"

          "Nighttime walks to clear my head," Taekwoon muttered. "He didn't seem to believe me and posted a servant outside my door. I climbed out the window to get here today." His breath came out in a low hiss. "Someone must have noticed."

          "Taekwoon!" Hakyeon felt his blood turn to ice. "Why would you risk coming here if you knew they were watching?"

          "I..." Taekwoon buried his face deeper into his hands. "I don't like being apart from you."

          Hakyeon's stomach twisted into a knot, and he would have smiled and laughed if the situation were different. But all he felt was guilt. "This is my fault, Taekwoon. I should never have agreed to this. I should never have--"

          Taekwoon's voice was weak. "It's not your fault I can't stay away from you, Hakyeon."

          Hakyeon swallowed the lump in his throat and scrambled to his feet, tugging on Taekwoon's arm. "You have to go back. Who knows what they'll do, what they'll say... How much trouble you could be in..."

          Taekwoon stood and gripped Hakyeon's shoulders, forcing him to stare into his wide eyes. "None of this was your fault, Hakyeon. Understood? None of it."

          "Understood," Hakyeon whispered, but he didn't believe it.

****

          They didn't meet again after that night.

          Hakyeon had trudged home, his heart heavy and his stomach aching with guilt. He could feel tears pricking at his eyes, begging and pleading to be released, but he refused. He curled up in bed and pulled at his hair, screaming an endless internal monologue. He had always known the risk of their situation, but had always assumed that any consequences would fall on his head, not Taekwoon's. How could he have been so utterly selfish? So rash and thoughtless?

          He could barely eat the next day. The smell of the servant girl's cooking made bile rise harshly in his throat. He wanted to scream, he wanted to tear out his hair at how cruel and unfair the world was. They had simply wanted to spend time together. Was that such an unforgivable sin?

          It was a week before Hakyeon was able to drag himself to the forest again. He had convinced himself that perhaps Taekwoon hadn't faced any consequences at all. Perhaps he would be there, waiting in the woods like always, with the moonlight catching in his eyes. And perhaps Hakyeon should not have been surprised when he wasn't.

          It was a month before Hakyeon saw him again. His father had forced him into town in an attempt to remedy his sluggish behavior, dragging him along as he looked through various wares. Hakyeon had tried to perk up, if only for his father, and he pretended to have interest in a new pair of cloth shoes at the nearest stall. His chest felt heavy and his head had been stuffed with cotton. The guilt and longing had kept him awake all night. He wondered for the thousandth time when this would end.

          His father had wandered to a stall several yards away, and Hakyeon hurried to catch up to him. He was so focused in his haste that he bumped into the arm of a passerby. He dropped a quick bow in their direction and mumbled an apology.

          "Hakyeon?" There it was, that voice like spring and velvet. The voice that had been playing in his mind for weeks, keeping him awake at night.

          He jumped and glanced upward, his eyes finding Taekwoon's instantly. He searched them for that brightness, that insatiable curiosity, but found only an empty nothingness.

          "Hakyeon, have you been ill?" Taekwoon's empty eyes searched his face. "You look exhausted."

          "I could say the same to you," Hakyeon said softly.

          Taekwoon flinched but said nothing.

          "I take it you're doing well?" Hakyeon couldn't keep his voice from shaking. He knew he sounded desperate and unstable, and he hated it.

          Taekwoon looked over his shoulder, searching for someone in the crowded square. "The Crown Prince is here. I can't be seen with you," he muttered under his breath. "Just please tell me you're fine."

          Hakyeon's heart was in his throat, his eyes stung and he felt naseous and no, he most certainly wasn't fine. "I'm fine, Taekwoon," he whispered. "Don't let me be more of a burden to you than I already am."

          "Hakyeon--" Taekwoon's voice was like the string of an instrument being pulled too tight.

          Hakyeon blinked the tears back and turned away without another word.

          He heard the news the next day. The king's nephew, cousin to the Crown Prince, would be returning to his hometown after months of visiting the palace. He was to find a wife and marry for political power. Their union would mean great things for the southern provinces.

          Hakyeon nearly vomited. The betrayal he felt was strong, surging through his veins like snake poison. He felt sick and dizzy, and his insomnia was worse than ever. And he hated himself for it.

          What right did he have to feel any ounce of betrayal? Taekwoon had never belonged to him. He and Taekwoon had never had any relationship at all outside of a forbidden friendship. So why did Hakyeon recoil at the thought of him being held and touched by someone else? Why did he feel sick when he thought of him whispering soft "I love you"s to someone else? It was wrong and he knew it, and he hated himself.

         How would his father feel if he knew that his only son was thinking thoughts so forbidden and vile? How would society react if they discovered that he had fallen in helpless love with another man? There would be nothing left for him, and perhaps that's what he deserved.

          He was in the crowd the day Taekwoon left the palace. There was a grand procession with Taekwoon leading on horseback. He looked regal in every sense, with his severe topknot, dark eyes and calm demeanor. Hakyeon thought he looked unfamiliar, longing for the Taekwoon who regarded him with bright curiosity and told him he was lovelier than the stars.

          He kept to the back of the crowd and trained his eyes on the ground. He didn't want Taekwoon's last memory of him to be this pathetic. He turned and headed home, keeping his head down the entire way.

          Home was empty when he got back, which seemed fitting for his mood. He collapsed to the walkway with his head in his hands and let the tears fall for the first time in months.

          What was left for him? He had no hope as a government astronomer, and could not imagine a life following in the footsteps of his father. But he would be disowned entirely if he tried to pursue anything else, and he knew that he was skilled in no other field. His father had groomed him to be his successor, and his opinion held no weight.

          The man he had hopelessly, stupidly fallen for would only return with a wife in tow, and he knew he was disgusting for hating the thought. The shame he would bring upon his family would be unbearable, and society would shun him entirely if they knew. He knew it was wrong. He could feel the shame burning in his eyes. And yet he couldn't stop it.

          What options did he have? What future could he possibly anticipate? He imagined an arranged marriage with a beautiful girl he would pretend to love, and a life he would passively tolerate for the sake of someone else. And he wanted to scream and tear the house apart, rip up the flagstones piece by piece and curse the universe for being so unbearably cruel.

          An idea began to form unbidden in the darkest corners of his mind. A horrible, unthinkable idea that wrapped him in the most forbidden comfort.

          He could end it.

          He shrunk away from the thought instantly, the way prey cowered in the face of a hunter. He was surprised at himself for thinking it. He was more surprised at the relief it seemed to bring. A horribly unspeakable idea -- and he wanted it.

         And as the days went by and his hopes shrank into the deepest, darkest part of himself, the idea grew. It blossomed into a plan, a dark and twisted plan stained with each of his bitter memories. And he craved it like an addict. His drug, his remedy, his cure all was right there, so close, right at the tips of his fingers. All he had to do was take it.

          And take it he did.

         It was a chilly night with a crescent moon caught high in tangled blackness. Stars shone like pinholes in parchment. The water of the river was ice against Hakyeon's ankles, and he could feel pinpricks of pain chasing each other up his legs. He took a breath and walked until the water hit his knees.

          His father's face flashed before his eyes, followed by his late mother and, lastly, Taekwoon. He knew he would be disappointing them all. He would be causing them suffering and pain. But what would it be compared to the pain he had been feeling for weeks? Was he supposed to live in misery to secure their happiness? That seemed terribly unfair.

          Another stride forward, then two and three more, and the water was at his chin. He could feel each shiver shake him to the core. His teeth chattered uncontrollably. He sank down, down and down and down, until the cold faded. His thoughts faded. Misery faded. Darkness turned to a calming pale light, waiting, beckoning.   

          And he was finally wrapped in the warm embrace of nothing.

 

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	2. The Waiting Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith,  
> But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting."  
> -T. S. Eliot

          The feeling of peace vanished as quickly as it had come.

          Hakyeon’s eyes snapped open at the visceral sadness that tore through his chest like fire. He blinked once, twice, three times. Had it all been a dream?

          But no. He could remember the cold like knives piercing his skin. He could remember fading into a watery, velvety blackness. He could remember the regret that pulled at his mind before everything vanished.

          Could this possibly be death?

          He sat up. His head swam and spun. The memories were still clear as the noontime sun, and the pain still pricked the space behind his eyes. Yet he felt weightless and warm, comfortable save for the emotions tumbling through his veins.

          He raised his head and would have stumbled backward had he been standing. A vast forest spread in all directions, thick with rosy peach blossoms and the colors of a sunset. The trees looked unnatural, their trunks painted with golds and silvers, their roots twisting into magenta tangles. The dirt beneath his palms was the soft yellow of a spring morning. The sky above winked at him in shades of blush.

          The air stuck in his throat and he choked. Where could he possibly be? How had he ended up here? Why did every second of pain and longing still claw through his system like a trapped animal? Why wasn’t he able to _forget_?

          “A newcomer, I see.” The voice was sad.

          Hakyeon spun around, a hand raising instinctively to block his face. A yelp slipped past his lips when he saw the man standing mere feet from him.

          He was dressed in the simple robes and headgear of a scholar, his pitch dark hair cascading down his back, unmoved by the lack of wind in the oddly still atmosphere. His mouth was turned down at the corners and his eyes held an infinite pain that Hakyeon couldn’t fathom. He couldn’t have been any older than Hakyeon himself.

          “I suppose you have questions.” The sentence came out on a sigh.

          Hakyeon was embarrassed by the squeak that escaped his throat. He cleared his throat and took a breath. “Y-you suppose?”

          The man’s lips pressed together into a thin line. “I know you do. Everyone does.”

          “Did I fail?” Hakyeon whispered. He felt his heart drop into the dirt.

          The man quirked one eyebrow. “Fail?”

          Hakyeon wet his lips and tried again. “I just… I just wanted to end it all. I can’t believe… Where is this? I failed, right? How could I have possibly-”

          “You want to know if you failed at taking your own life.” It wasn’t a question.

          “Yes,” Hakyeon breathed.

          The man shrugged. “Not in a technical sense. You aren’t alive, to be precise.”

          “Then what am I?”

          The man’s head tilted to one side. “You simply are.”

          Hakyeon frowned and scrambled to his feet. He could feel irritation flaring quickly and easily. “I’d really prefer to not spend time on riddles.”

          “Time.” The man scoffed. “We don’t spend time here at all, Hakyeon. Can you really spend that which has an unlimited supply?”

          “If you’re implying that this is truly death, then I feel terribly cheated,” Hakyeon spat, the words like bitter acid on his tongue. He didn’t bother asking how this man knew his name.

          The man spread his hands. “Is this not what you had in mind?”

          Hakyeon glowered, his hands balling into fists.

          “Do tell me what you imagined, then. Everyone has a different idea.”

          “An escape!” It came as a shout that Hakyeon could feel in his chest. “A way out! Nothingness, blackness, emptiness, anything to rid me of that pain! I wanted it so badly. I needed it--” The words broke as a sob fell from his lips.

          The man moved to sit cross-legged in the dirt, his hands coming up to adjust his horsehair hat. “And whoever told you that death would give you that escape?”

          “I believe it’s a general assumption. Was I mistaken?”

          “Indeed you were.” The man’s voice was somber and soft.

          “So this…” Hakyeon could feel another sob clawing its way up his throat. “This is where I spend all eternity?”

          The man simply patted the dirt next to him in response, inviting Hakyeon to sit. The motion reminded Hakyeon of Taekwoon, and he felt sick. He remained standing.

          The man frowned. “Sit next to me, Cha Hakyeon. There’s a lot to tell you.”

          Hakyeon stood for several more seconds before acquiescing.

          “There are a million names for this place,” the man began, leaning against a golden tree trunk with a sigh. “You can call it whatever you’d like. It makes no difference. We are all those who took our own lives, and are essentially trapped here for the time being. Think of it as the infinite space between death” - he let pale yellow dirt fall through his fingers – “and life.”

          Hakyeon’s chest constricted, and hot tears built along his lash line. “I still feel quite alive,” he hissed.

          “It fades,” the man drawled. “You will realize that there is no need to eat, drink, or sleep. The emotions get less sharp eventually. They don’t sting as much after a while.” The sadness had returned to his voice, edging his words with the slightest tinge of pain.

          “You seem to be the expert.” Hakyeon’s eyes narrowed. “How long have you been here?”

          The man kept his eyes on the rosy sky. “Longer than you can begin to imagine.”

          Hakyeon’s tears fell then, and he wiped them away with the tips of his fingers. Had he really doomed himself to this pathetic half-existence? And for what? Affection? Longing? Shame? It had all come rushing back like the water at high tide and he wanted to scream.

          “You have no right to keep me here,” he choked out.

          “You won’t be here forever.” The man’s smile was sad.

          Hakyeon blinked as the tears continued to spill. “What do you mean?”

          “You will know when the time comes.”

          Hakyeon huffed and swallowed back another sob. This man was almost as infuriating as Taekwoon – he stopped that thought before it could run away with his heartstrings attached.

          “I have something for you.” The man leaned toward him suddenly. “A gift, if you will.”

          Hakyeon stiffened, instantly wary. “I think I’d rather not.”

          “You have no choice.” He took Hakyeon’s hand in his.

          And Hakyeon felt a frigid chill sneak through his body, crawling through his veins and twisting around every inch of skin. His breath caught in his chest and he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. It culminated in a horrific pain near his heart that radiated to the tips of his fingers.

          It was over as soon as it began. The man released his hand and Hakyeon slumped to the dirt with a gasp.

          “Your gift and your curse,” the man said. “It begins now.”

          And Hakyeon could feel a sensation in his chest, a tugging that pulled him to his feet and guided him to the space between two golden trees. He clawed at the fabric of his jacket, desperate to rid himself of the pressure.

          “It won’t do you any good,” the man murmured. “Now watch.”

          And the scene changed.

          The air between the trees shimmered and bent. The vivid colors melted into softer grays and blues, so soft that Hakyeon yearned to reach out and touch their velvet edges. There were two people before him, their figures shifting, warped as if he were viewing them through a layer of water.

          The girl dressed in delicate pinks stood on the edge of a pond, facing the wide-eyed boy across from her. Hakyeon stumbled back at the sight, his feet skidding in the soft dirt.

          “What is this?” He gasped. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and shook his head.

          The man said nothing. Hakyeon let his eyes snap open again.

          The couple was still there, holding hands near the glassy water. Around their shoulders settled a strange misty aura the bright crimson of fall leaves. Hakyeon squinted. What on earth—

          “I love you,” the girl whispered, her eyes cast downward. Her voice sounded as if it were coming from miles away.

          A smile played at the edges of the boy’s lips. “You know I feel the same.”

          They embraced and Hakyeon wanted to scream. The pain was too raw, too fresh, and he could feel his heart lodged in his throat. He clapped his hands over his ears and took another step backward, shaking his head violently.

          “What is this?!” He shouted. He sank to his knees and tried to hold back the sobs pressing against his lips. The scene before him dissolved into nothingness. “I can’t, I can’t do this,” he whimpered. “What is this, what is this, what is this?” His voice broke.

          He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see the scholar staring down at him with sad eyes.

          “It gets easier,” he murmured. “I promise.”

          “What gets easier?” Hakyeon gasped. He could feel his fingers begin to shake. “What the hell is this? Why won’t you _explain_?”

          The man sank down next to him. “It’s your punishment, for lack of a better word.”

          “Punishment?”

          “For ending your own life. Did you really think you’d be able to move on without any consequences?”

          Hakyeon felt ice in his veins. “What…?”

          “Affection,” the man stated simply. He sat back on his heels and returned to staring at the blushing sky. “Affection forced you into taking your own life. Now you’re forced to exist with it in a place in which there is no escape. It is the cruelest irony, don’t you think?”

          Hakyeon nearly choked. Nausea roiled in the pit of his stomach and he heard ringing in his ears. “So you mean to say… that those people just now…?”

          The man hummed. “They’re real people, yes. All of that is happening right now, as we speak. They’re living, loving, moving on. All of the things you are no longer able to do.”

          “I’m going to be sick,” Hakyeon whispered, his hands coming up to cover his own mouth.

          “Well, not literally,” the man said.

          Hakyeon shot him a venomous glare and shut his eyes against the pain in his chest. Had he really done this to himself? Had he honestly damned himself to an existence in this hell?

          “There’s another.” The man’s voice was quiet.

          Hakyeon felt the tug again, persistent and unyielding. He tried to fight it, tried to push back against it with all of his strength, but it yanked his attention to another warped scene that he couldn’t ignore.

          It was a mother this time, holding her newborn baby with tears in her eyes. The aura that had settled around her shoulders was the pale yellow of the dirt Hakyeon pressed his hands into. The baby’s cries echoed throughout the forest, distant and tinny from a thousand miles away.

          The image dissolved into a dozen pieces and Hakyeon could feel tears in his eyes that he couldn’t explain. “That wasn’t the same,” he whispered.

          The scholar made a questioning hum in the back of his throat.

          “That wasn’t the same,” Hakyeon repeated. “It wasn’t the same as the one from before. This one was yellow and… d-different, it was just different.”

          “Well, affection has many forms, does it not?”

          Hakyeon frowned and curled in on himself. How many of these would he be forced to experience? How much pain could he possibly endure?

          “This isn’t fair,” he choked out.

          “I never said it was. I only said it gets easier.”

          “I doubt that.” Hakyeon’s voice was strained and small. He cringed at how vulnerable he sounded.

          The scholar stood and extended a hand, offering to help Hakyeon to his feet. “I don’t doubt it at all.”

****

          Hakyeon lost track of time faster than he would have imagined. There were no mornings, no evenings or nights, and at first he missed the feel of sleep heavy on his eyelids. He missed the steady cycle of sunrises and sunsets, and the feeling of time running slow on a lazy afternoon. It was a torturous and monotonous eternity and he could sense insanity slithering around his neck.

          He lay curled in a ball for what could have been minutes or months. The scenes of affection continued, allowing him to see changes in dress and environment that gave him no indication of how many years it had been. The scholar came to check on him periodically, resting a hand on his shoulder and staring at him with those sad, infinite eyes.

          Others came and went, stumbling across his forest as if by accident. They would wander through the golden trunks and step over magenta roots until they found him curled into himself on the ground. He forgot most of them by the time they left.

          But some left an impression he couldn’t erase.

          He remembered Eunji, the first one to drag him to his feet and chastise him for being so passive. He could remember thinking that she didn’t seem like the type to take her own life. He was glad he never asked why she did.

          Eunji was a force of nature. She pulled him to the edge of the forest and into an expanse of white nothing, wandering with him until they stumbled upon other forests just like his, each with their own inhabitants. He recognized hairstyles and clothing from early Joseon, much before his time. He met people with blue eyes and golden hair, people with beautiful dark skin that he never could have imagined, people who spoke in different tongues and dressed themselves in unfamiliar fabrics.

          But Eunji stopped coming eventually, and Hakyeon felt like he was suffocating.

          “Where is she?” He asked when the scholar returned.

          The man hummed and tugged at a lock of his hair. “Where is who?”

          “Eunji,” he pressed. “She hasn’t been back.”

          “Ah.” The scholar nodded.

          Hakyeon felt irritation creeping up the back of his neck. “I want to know where she is.”

          “She has moved on,” the scholar said simply. He turned to leave.

          “W-what does that mean?”

          The scholar waved a dismissive hand and was gone.

****

          It continued that way in the Waiting Place, as Hakyeon had begun to call it. He did not know what he was waiting for, but the scholar assured him time and again that he wouldn’t be there forever. Perhaps the next step was worse. Hakyeon entertained that thought when it knocked at his mind’s door, trying to conjure up a hell that could possibly be worse than the one he was trapped in.

          Scenes still tugged at his chest, and he had learned to classify them based on the color of the misty aura resting across a person’s shoulders. The soft yellow of a spring morning signaled parental love, a feeling of guardianship and protection. He saw it when mothers held their newborn children, when fathers taught their sons the family craft or gave their daughters away in marriage.

          The clear blue of a summer ocean was friendship. It settled around the shoulders of classmates and coworkers as laughter filled the air. Childhood friends giving gifts on birthdays, new friends meeting for the very first time, and old friends reuniting in tears all gave off a blue aura that reminded Hakyeon of the sea’s constant presence.

          Familial love was a soft meadow green. It was the firm and tenacious love children felt for their parents, the comfortable love between siblings and cousins, the affection that tumbled through the air at family gatherings and celebrations. It made Hakyeon think of his father, and his heart ended up in his throat.

          Lust was a stormy purple, so deep it was nearly black. Hakyeon felt his breath catch at this one in the beginning, and was sure it could not truly be a form of affection. The scholar had assured him that it was the cousin to romantic love, and that there was nothing more affectionate than sharing something so intimate between two people. Dark purple hung heavy in the air when stolen glances, touches, and kisses were exchanged. Hakyeon always stumbled away from these.

          The last was romantic love, a deep and heavy crimson. This one hurt the most, and Hakyeon fought against the tugging in his chest with every fiber of his will. He saw it bright in the eyes of lovers, solid and reassuring in the way they held hands and leaned against one another. He always forced these scenes to dissolve early as Taekwoon’s face swam in his mind’s eye.

          One such scene had just broken when he met Minhyuk.

          He had collapsed to the soft dirt, tears pricking his eyelids, when he heard the shuffle of footsteps. He raised his head and saw a man stepping gingerly over raised magenta roots, his eyes scanning the spaces between trees. He jumped when he saw Hakyeon and raised one hand to cover his heart.

          “You scared the life out of me!” He snorted then, pursing his lips to hold back a laugh. “I guess I can’t say that anymore, seeing as how I’m dead and all.”

          His Korean was strange and short, as if he were cutting the ends from all the sentences he spoke. Hakyeon frowned and blinked the tears out of his eyes. “What?”

          The man raised an eyebrow. “What?” His eyes raked over Hakyeon from head to foot. “Wow, how long have you been here? That getup is pretty outdated.”

          “I don’t understand.”

          The man’s lips parted, but then realization flashed in his eyes and he nodded. “Right, right, right. Sorry. Uh… Your clothes. They look really old to me. How long have you been up here?”

          Hakyeon blinked. “I don’t know. No one knows.” He studied the man’s black pants and short matching jacket, with a high white collar and a piece of fabric hanging from his neck. He had seen people wearing suits before – he had asked the scholar about them when he came around – but he had never asked about the silky neck piece.  

          Hakyeon pointed to his own neck and outlined the fabric’s shape with his finger. “What do you call that?”

          The man tilted his head and tugged at his collar. “Oh, this? It’s a necktie. Why?”

          “We didn’t wear them in my time.” Hakyeon shrugged.

          He nodded then, his eyes downcast. “I guess I didn’t think about that. Everyone wears them nowadays, but of course you wouldn’t know about any of that. Do you… Do you have any idea what’s going on out there?”

          Hakyeon frowned and thought back to the most recent scenes he had witnessed. Something had certainly changed; he could see it in the eyes of a proud father who watched as his daughter boarded an airplane – another term he had learned from the scholar after he had nearly choked watching human beings climb into their depths. He could see it when a mother cried over a letter from her only son, and when friends embraced like they had been apart for years. In a recent family gathering he had been forced to witness, he heard the lilting of accented Japanese, a language he was only vaguely familiar with.

          “Something’s different,” he muttered. “Something out there.”

          The man nodded, face suddenly grave. He tugged at his necktie as if doing so were an absentminded habit. “We’re under Japanese rule.” His voice was full of a bitter venom. “Have been since 1910.”

          Hakyeon froze. Japanese rule? 1910? He swallowed. “H-how long has it been since King Yeongjo’s reign?” 

          The man’s brow furrowed. “Uh… man, I was never really great at history. Let me think…” His voice trailed off. He tapped his chin. “Pretty sure Yeongjo was mid-1700s? So my best guess is that it’s been 150 years at least. Maybe more.”

          Hakyeon felt his stomach somewhere near his feet. 150 years? Had he honestly spent over a century eking out an existence in this place?

          “Have you been here that long?” The man whispered.

          “Yes,” Hakyeon gasped. “I have.”

          His mind flipped back through the thousands upon thousands of scenes he had been forced to witness, settling upon the small details that stuck out like sprouts in a dry season.

          The changes in fashion were the most obvious, and he had grown used to them over time. Clothing morphed into new and unexpected shapes, both men and women chose to cut their hair, and the invention of the telephone brought on new waves of affection as people could communicate across long distances.

          The changes in environment were harder to pinpoint. There were scenes that took place outdoors, where Hakyeon could see towering buildings covered in twinkling lights, and streets smoothly stretching into the distance. He asked the scholar about every new anomaly he laid eyes on, desperate to keep up with the country that was turning and changing without him.

          Streetcars, movie theaters, radios; the country he had known and spent his life in had become nearly unrecognizable. He had been sure that fifty, maybe sixty years had passed since he had taken his life, but he never would have guessed it had been more than a century.

          His fingers has begun to tremble and there was a horrible ringing in his ears. A hundred and fifty years, and he still felt this alive?

          “Something wrong, Hakyeon?” The scholar’s lazy voice.

          Hakyeon rounded on him, an unprecedented fury burning in his veins. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

          The scholar raised his hands, palms facing outward. “Tell you what?”

          “Why didn’t you tell me a hundred and fifty years have passed? How could you keep me here that long?”

          “I’m not keeping you here,” he said, eyes narrowed. “You’re keeping yourself here.” His eyes darted to the man standing behind Hakyeon. “Ah, Lee Minhyuk. I’ve been expecting you. Made friends with Hakyeon already?”

          “Don’t you dare change the subject,” Hakyeon hissed. His fingers curled into fists. “You said I wouldn’t be here forever.”

          “One hundred and fifty years is not forever, Hakyeon.”

          “What year is it out there?” Hakyeon gestured toward the edge of the forest, his arm sweeping in a wide arc.

          The scholar hummed, the picture of nonchalance. “1939, last time I checked.”

          Hakyeon’s heart stuttered. “And what year was it when I got here?”

          “1744. So really, it’s been 195 years if you want to get technical.”

          Hakyeon felt as if something had struck him in the chest. “This is barbaric,” he whispered. “You can’t keep me here, you can’t do this anymore.” Tears built along his lash line, and he desperately wished he could forget what it was like to cry.

          “I told you, I’m not keeping you here. Learn your lesson, and I’ll let you go.”

          “What lesson?!” He shouted. His voice broke and he felt vulnerable and small. He wanted to curl in on himself and disappear. He wanted to die.

          Something dark and unreadable flashed in the scholar’s eyes. “Thoughts like that are keeping you here, Hakyeon.”

          Hakyeon froze. How had he known?

          “Death isn’t an escape. Stop treating it like one.” The scholar turned and vanished amongst the golden trees, his shoulders set rigid and his hands balled into fists.

****

          Minhyuk never came back after that day. Hakyeon assumed he had eventually moved on like all the others. He was stuck, treading water over a vast and bottomless trench, while everyone else found solace in the shore.

          The scenes that played for him between the trees took a terrifying turn that left his heart in his throat and his hands shaking. Mothers weeping over their dead sons as the misty yellow aura nearly wrapped around their necks. Friends wailing at fresh grave sites, lovers spilling crimson blood hand in hand as their red aura dissipated in the rain. He spent countless years shaken and weak with nausea drumming in his ears. How could the dead feel what he was feeling? How could the universe allow something so twisted and wrong?

          It was 1953 by the scholar’s last count. Millions were dead and his homeland was divided and bathed in its own blood. He dreaded the tugging in his chest more than ever. He had seen parents insane with grief take their own lives. He had seen people grow listless and distant, driven to madness by the deaths of their loved ones. He had watched as the line that had been cut harshly through the middle of his country forced lovers and families apart until they died alone.

          And he grew distant himself.

          As the scenes pulled and tugged at his heart again and again, he stopped caring. One weeping parent was the same as the next. One couple whispering sweet nothings was the same as any other. Family celebrations blended together into a muddy puddle. He was utterly spent. Images of Taekwoon became few and far between, and a day came when he couldn’t even remember the sound of his voice. A day came when he stopped crying and decided to build an internal wall taller and stronger than himself. It made his existence easier, and that was all he felt he could ask for.

          It was a moment the same as any other, with Hakyeon running yellow dirt through his fingers as he tried to ignore the tugging in his chest. It had become tolerable, and he had learned to push it away if he focused every fiber of his will on the sensation.

          A shuffling came from his left, followed by a thud and a soft “Dang it.”

          His head instantly swiveled toward the sound, where a young boy with his foot caught underneath a tree root was poised on all fours. His oversized glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, and his dark hair was unkempt. He glanced up to see Hakyeon watching him.

          “Sorry, sorry,” he spluttered. “I-I didn’t mean to distract you or anything--” He dislodged his shoe from the root and stood, brushing his hands over his wrinkled clothing. His jeans and oversized sweatshirt were covered in dirt.

          “I’m Hongbin, by the way.” He strode toward Hakyeon and extended a hand. Hakyeon knew by now that it was customary to shake it, but he didn’t bother. He turned back to the dirt sifting slowly through his fingers.

          Hongbin withdrew his offer and laughed nervously. “I’m new here, if you can’t tell. I uh… ended it just yesterday, when I--”

          “Stop.”

          “W-what?”

          “Stop,” Hakyeon repeated, standing and letting a handful of soft dirt fall back to the ground. “I don’t want to hear about it.”

          Hongbin wrung his hands. “Well, I just thought…”

          “That we all talk about it here?” Hakyeon raised an eyebrow. Was this kid really about to discuss his suicide in detail to a person he didn’t know? “We don’t. It doesn’t do to dwell on memories like that.” He himself could barely remember his own. There were blurred images of Taekwoon’s face, and he could vaguely feel the bite of icy water on his skin, but everything else was muddy at best.

          “C-can I ask how long you’ve been here?”

          Hakyeon frowned. “What year is it out there?”

          Hongbin blinked for several seconds before he seemed to understand the question. “Oh! It’s 1998. November of 1998.”

          “About 250 years.” Hakyeon sat back down. “Give or take.” It still stung knowing that he had been trapped in the Waiting Place for so long. He shook his head and pushed the feeling down as far as it would go.

          Hongbin let out a low whistle. “That must be rough.”

          Hakyeon said nothing.

          With a soft sigh, Hongbin sat down in the dirt next to him and pulled his knees up to his chest. “Is it okay if I stay here with you?”

          Hakyeon blinked. “I don’t understand why you would want to.”

          “I don’t like being alone.” The other shrugged delicately.

          The phrase sparked a memory within the deepest corners of Hakyeon’s mind: Taekwoon dressed in pale yellow, tugging on his sleeve in the marketplace – “The woods are only dangerous when one is alone” – and Hakyeon flinched at the sound of that petal-soft voice. He had gone so long, so blissfully long, without the pain that arced through his veins at the sound of that voice. His fingers curled into fists.

          “I suppose you can stay,” he muttered, unsure of why he said it.

          Hongbin smiled and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

****

          Next was Sanghyuk, who came traipsing through the forest with his arms swinging at his sides. He let out a yell when he saw them sitting there and held up both of his hands in mock surrender.

          “I come in peace,” he said.

          Hongbin raised an eyebrow. Hakyeon didn’t understand the reference.

          “What a nice motley crew we have here,” the new boy said, tugging at the hem of his black leather jacket. “The college student and the old-timey Joseon dude. Sounds like the beginning to a bad joke.”

          Hakyeon glanced at him and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Who are you and what do you want?”

          “Sanghyuk,” the boy drawled, leaning against a golden tree trunk. He looked impossibly young. “I don’t know what I want. World peace, maybe?”

          Hongbin snorted.

          Sanghyuk raised a brow. “Something funny, college boy?”

          Hongbin shook his head and returned to tracing patterns in the dirt with his index finger.

          “Why are you here?” Hakyeon kept his voice neutral.

          “Welllllll.” Sanghyuk stretched out the syllable as far as it could possibly go. “Gang activity, a run in with the wrong sort. I may or may not have owed them money. Thought we could all get along in harmony, but I was apparently wrong there. I took my own life before they could take it from me. I like to be in control, y’know?”

          Hongbin’s eyes were wide and Hakyeon nearly choked.

          “That’s not what I meant.” Hakyeon held up a hand.

          Sanghyuk sauntered forward and stretched out on the dirt next to them. “If you want to know what I’m doing here, in this _particular_ forest at this _particular_ time, I’d have to tell you that it’s just because I don’t like being alone. What’s the point of wasting eternity by myself?”

          “Well,” Hongbin muttered. “You can’t really waste eternity, you know. It’s eternity. Technically speaking, can you really waste that which--”

          “Shove it, college boy. You get the gist.”

          Hakyeon eyed him carefully. “How old are you?”

          “Seventeen,” he drawled.

          “And what year is it out there?”

          Sanghyuk raised a brow. “2016.”

          Hongbin let out a yelp. “2016? Already? Are you joking?”

          “Yeah, I’m joking,” Sanghyuk quipped. “It’s really 2048 and I’m a fucking cyborg. No, I’m not joking. Who do you take me for?”

          Hakyeon frowned at the unfamiliar terms they were throwing back and forth. He felt completely detached from the conversation and irritation crawled up the back of his neck. “Can you use words I understand, please?”

          Hongbin blinked, his eyes impossibly wide behind his thick lenses. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t stop to think that you might not know…”

          “Good God, we can teach him so much!” Sanghyuk crowed. “Let’s teach him every curse word they use nowadays.”

          “Even I don’t know all the words you use nowadays,” Hongbin mumbled.

          “When did you get here?”

          “1998.”

          Sanghyuk shrugged. “We’re not that far apart, man. I was born in ’99.”

          “We’re still… quite far apart, actually,” Hongbin pointed out.

          Sanghyuk shrugged again. “It’s all in the past, isn’t it? We’re all here together now, and that’s what really matters. You, me, and good old Joseon boy.”

          Hakyeon squinted. “Don’t call me that.”

          “Your name, then?”

          “Hakyeon.”

          “And yours, college boy?”

          “Hongbin.”

          “Hakyeon, Hongbin, and Sanghyuk.” Sanghyuk crossed his legs and clasped his hands together behind his head. “Takin’ on the afterlife together. How cute.”

****

          Hakyeon had grown used to Hongbin’s scenes. He watched as, over and over again, Hongbin would stare wordlessly at an empty space between trees, his fingers trembling and his breath hitching in his throat. It was shame that had caused the boy to take his life – the crippling feeling that he would never be able to live up to the expectations of his parents – and Hakyeon couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for him to view the pain of others for all eternity.

          Sanghyuk was different. He had scoffed when the scholar arrived to give him his “gift”, even mocking the man’s words when he had turned to leave. He rolled his eyes. “It can’t possibly be as bad as yours, right?”

          But then the first scene had hit, and Hakyeon followed him to the edge of the forest, where Sanghyuk had curled into a shivering ball with tears staining his cheeks like rain.

          “It gets easier,” Hakyeon whispered, reaching out to lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He realized that he sounded exactly like the scholar who had cursed them all to this existence, but he could think of nothing else to do.

          Sanghyuk flinched away. “I don’t give a shit,” he gasped. “This is cruel and I’m not going to deal with it. It isn’t fair.”

          Hakyeon’s heart was in his throat. It was painful to see a boy so young damned to an existence so terrible. “You don’t have a choice, I’m afraid.”

          Sanghyuk said nothing.

          They returned to Hongbin eventually, who greeted them with a somber nod. He kept his wide eyes trained on Sanghyuk, lips parted as if he were about to ask. Hakyeon shook his head.

          It continued like that for those torturous stretches of time no one could measure. Hakyeon had learned to pull himself away, to detach himself from each and every scene the way a physician detached themselves from a patient’s pain. There was just too much, and he could feel himself aching to erase every feeling.

          They used conversation as a tool to keep the hurt at bay. Hakyeon learned a dozen things a day: the way KPop music had exploded into an international phenomenon in Sanghyuk’s time; the way the Internet and the coming of the year 2000 gave birth to theories of death and destruction when Hongbin was alive. How smartphones could do everything a person could ever want, but they had still not found a cure for cancer or a solution to world hunger.

          Tales of life wove a tapestry of light and wonder in their frozen eyes, and Hakyeon found himself wishing that he could remember more of his. The name “Taekwoon” still played at the back of his mind like a muted melody, but he couldn’t remember the face this name should have belonged to. He had blurry memories of palaces and forests soaked in rain, but they slipped through his fingers whenever he tried to reach for them.

          It was in one of those moments - when Hakyeon was trying desperately to reclaim a shred of his former life - that the scholar returned.

          “Deep in thought, I see,” he drawled.

          Hakyeon spared him a glance from the corner of his eye. “What is it now?”

          The scholar held his hands up. “There’s no need for the attitude, Hakyeon. I just have a question for you.”

          “Ask away,” Hakyeon muttered. A phrase he had learned from Hongbin.

          “What have you learned?”

          Hakyeon blinked, his mind stalling. “Excuse me?”

          The scholar extended a hand, offering to help Hakyeon to his feet. Sanghyuk and Hongbin stared, their faces sporting identical expressions of unease. Hakyeon ignored the outstretched hand and remained seated in the soft dirt.

          “I asked you what you have learned,” the scholar said quietly.

          Hakyeon scoffed. “I’ve seen my country torn apart and pieced back together. I’ve seen people cry and rejoice, live and die, suffer and smile. What do you think I’ve learned?”

          The scholar hummed. “If I knew, then I wouldn’t have asked. I want to know what you’ve learned about the nature of affection.”

          Hakyeon let out a breath and combed through his memories to appease him. There were some that stuck steadfastly to the corners of his mind, and others that had slipped through the cracks long ago. He could remember mothers with their newborn children, and those same mothers when those children passed away, broken by the sharp edges of relentless grief. He could remember a girl who had fallen in love with a female classmate, only to be ridiculed mercilessly by her peers. The two had come together eventually, and Hakyeon had seen the tentative start to their forbidden relationship. If Hakyeon had learned anything at all, it was that affection had two equal sides that couldn’t be avoided. It was happiness and pain, life and death, all rolled into one.

          “It’s everything.” Hakyeon took a breath. “It isn’t good or evil, joy or sadness. It’s pain and longing and ecstasy all at the same time.”

          The scholar sat cross-legged in the dirt next to him. “Affection is like the stars in the sky.”

          Hakyeon blinked. Had his answer not been good enough? “How so?”

          “Like the stars, affection simply exists. But how you choose to look at it can change it altogether. There were those who saw the stars as a myriad of constellations, and those who regarded the heavens as vengeful gods. But in the end, Hakyeon, they were all looking at the same sky.”

          Hakyeon worried his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to process the endless riddles that came from the man next to him. He was right, in a sense. Affection simply was, and anyone experiencing it could choose how they wanted to approach. It had the ability to build and to break, and it was up to each person to determine which they would use it for.

          “I see,” Hakyeon breathed. “And I… I chose to let it break me?” He couldn’t remember how or why, but he and affection had walked hand-in-hand to the end of his life.

          “Indeed you did.” The scholar’s voice was soft.

          Hakyeon swallowed. It was a realization he had never come to before, that the blame was entirely his own. The wall he had built around himself began to tumble. There was a ringing in his ears. “So what now?” The question came out quavering and weak.

          The scholar took his wrist and smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Now you get another chance.”

          “Chance?” The word had just left Hakyeon’s lips when he felt an icy tingling in his hands and feet. It crawled up his arms, wound around his neck, clouded his vision and rendered his surroundings to an empty white. He spluttered and choked, clawing at his skin as the sensation grew. The words “good luck” rang in his ears, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. He wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, but no sound passed his lips. He was weightless and heavy, cold and then burning hot, as if an eternity of blocked feelings had returned to his body in one instant.

          And then it was done.

          He felt battered and beaten, his whole body aching. There was a cool sensation at his back, as if he were lying on a hard surface. What had happened? Where was he? He tried to sit up, tried to open his mouth to ask the scholar what he had done, but his limbs were too heavy. He took a breath, let his eyelids flutter open –

          And he screamed.

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. It means the world to me! I hope the story continues to hold your attention. ^^


	3. How Time Remembers

           A horrible screeching rang in his ears, and a bright light bounced off the wall to his left. His entire body screamed in protest as he scrambled to a sitting position.

          The two-wheeled vehicle was hurtling toward him, casting a bright light down the alleyway as the screeching continued to echo in the cramped space. He had seen them in scenes before, but couldn’t remember the word for them. He then figured it didn’t matter much as he fumbled for purchase against the hard ground, throwing himself backward and out of the vehicle’s path. The driver, whose head was covered in a strange round object, shouted something at him as he barreled past. It sounded an awful lot like one of the curse words Sanghyuk had taught him.

          Hakyeon gasped for air and watched the vehicle weave through the narrow alley. He recognized many of the things he had learned about: cars were parked along the edge of the street and power lines crisscrossed above his head, cutting the bleak gray sky into abstract triangles. He realized belatedly that it was raining. He blinked against the drops that found their way into his eyes.

          He let his head fall back against the nearest wall and tried to stop his heart from stuttering against his throat. His stomach had twisted into itself and goosebumps rose along his bare forearms. He felt his fingers start to shake.

          “How interesting it must be to feel the cold again.”

          Hakyeon recognized the scholar’s voice instantly. It sounded distant, as if he were speaking across a vast space. Hakyeon’s head whipped to the left and then to the right, taking in the entire street. The unforgiving wall of a building sat at his back and the stark gray wall of another rose in front of him. The entire alleyway was empty, save for a lone man walking with a dog several buildings away.

          “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already.”

          Hakyeon could imagine the way the man’s lips turned down at the corners. Perhaps he had truly lost his mind.

          “I don’t see you.” His voice shook and he frowned. “How can I still hear you if you aren’t actually there?”

          A pause. “You don’t see me?”

          “Why would I lie about that? Don’t you think this is bizarre enough for me already?” His head swam and his stomach churned. He placed his hands against the ground to steady the world that spun around him as if it hung from a frayed thread. He felt an uncomfortable jolt in his palms. The cold?

          “I suppose your trust has waned entirely, so this does make sense.”

          “What is that supposed to mean?” There was a pounding in his head now, a pressure behind his eyes. He could feel his soaked clothing sticking to his skin. For the first time since he had opened his eyes in this place, he took in his own appearance: tight-fitting jeans that clung uncomfortably in all the wrong places, a black shirt much like the one Sanghyuk had worn under his jacket, and shoes that hugged his feet with two straps. _Sandals_ , he could hear Sanghyuk say, _they’re in vogue these days._

          He wasn’t sure what “in vogue” meant, but he hadn’t asked.

          He couldn’t feel his hair against his shoulders, and he reached up to feel that it had been cropped short, barely brushing the tops of his ears. He knew that it was the style these days and he needed it to blend in, but the loss felt almost painful.

          The overall ensemble did nothing to protect him from the rain, and he found himself wishing for the long outer jacket he remembered from the Waiting Place. He couldn’t recall ever wearing anything else. He couldn’t recall ever speaking with anyone except for Sanghyuk, Hongbin, the scholar, and a blurry and vague Minhyuk.

          The scholar had given him a second chance, but what had his first chance been like?

          “I don’t remember,” Hakyeon whispered. He felt rather than heard his voice crack halfway through. “I remember you and Sanghyuk. Hongbin and Minhyuk… but before that, anything before that…” It melted into a vague and fuzzy blackness.

          “The mind is a fickle thing, Hakyeon.” The voice was edged with something Hakyeon couldn’t place, a hardness that laced the words with brittle ice. “And sometimes it’s better to forget.”

          Hakyeon shook his head violently. He could feel tears burning at the corners of his eyes. “Hongbin and Sanghyuk, they killed themselves. I remember that conversation.” He shook his head again. “I can’t, I can’t get rid of it. We all ended our lives, didn’t we? And me” – his voice wavered – “it was affection for me. I let it break me. You said so yourself. It was all my fault… I know I had a life, I know I did--”

          He could hear the scholar making soft shushing sounds, but it was more disconcerting than comforting. The voice still came from everywhere and nowhere, and Hakyeon balked at the idea of it simply coming from his own head.

          “You forgot your life long ago, Hakyeon. Why does it only bother you now?”

          “I wanted to remember,” Hakyeon whispered. His face was wet with tears or rain or both. “Sanghyuk and Hongbin, they both told me so much. They remembered everything, every detail, and I… I don’t have anything.”

          “Hongbin and Sanghyuk will forget eventually. Everyone does.”

          “But that’s unfair.”

          “I never said any of this was fair, Hakyeon.” A dark anger was mounting in the scholar’s voice, steady and strong. “Do you think I asked for any of this? Do you think I wanted this to happen? This space between life and death sucks everything from you, every happy memory, every moment of joy, until you have nothing! It isn’t meant to be just, it isn’t meant to be kind! It’s a punishment, Hakyeon, why can’t you understand that?”

          The empty sadness Hakyeon had felt mere moments before morphed into an ire that roiled restlessly in his blood. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand!” He scrambled to his feet, palms pressed flat against the wall behind him. He didn’t stop to think how strange it must look: a lone boy soaked to the bone, standing in an empty alleyway and yelling at nothing. “The memories I have of Hongbin and Sanghyuk are everything; I don’t have anything else! You took me away from that! And for what? This? So I could have some second chance in a back alley in the rain? You think I’ll be happier here, completely alone, while the only two people I ever cared about suffer over there without me? How is this a second chance in any way? I don’t _need_ a second chance!”

          “You’ve cared more deeply than you know, Hakyeon.” The forceful anger was gone now, replaced by a crackling cold that he could nearly feel. “And it wasn’t for Hongbin or Sanghyuk.”

          “I can’t remember it,” Hakyeon hissed. “Therefore it doesn’t matter.”

          “Time remembers. It always has and it always will.”

          Hakyeon’s fingers curled into fists, his nails scraping against the cold concrete. “Don’t speak in riddles to me. Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want this?”

          “Of course it did. Everyone fights it in the beginning,” the scholar said. His voice was knives sheathed in frost. “But the only alternative is going back, and I won’t let you stay for long. You’ll end up right back here.”

          Hakyeon slid against the wall until he was seated again. It was still raining, icy droplets pricking his skin like needles. Hongbin and Sanghyuk were still there on the other side, waiting, watching, losing hope. But he couldn’t stay with them even if he tried. They would have their own opportunities to forget and move on, to achieve happiness in a second life without all the pain of their first. But could he really do the same?

          “I can’t live here,” he gasped. “There’s no place for me. I don’t know how to survive here on my own.”

          “You aren’t on your own, Hakyeon.” It was unnerving how the other man’s voice could transform from icy anger to warm comfort in mere seconds.

          “You aren’t much help,” Hakyeon retorted. “If moving on is so important to you, why haven’t you done it?”

          His question was met with silence.

          It stayed like that for minutes that stretched into lifetimes. Hakyeon couldn’t remember when he started to shiver, but he soon felt as if he had been shivering for an eternity. Perhaps he had always been this cold.

          Hakyeon jumped and nearly yelped in surprise when the scholar spoke again, but he felt sure he had never left. He wasn’t surprised when his previous question was ignored entirely and the scholar instead chose to educate him on his country’s new system of currency and economic planning. There was a folded piece of leather in his back pocket – _a wallet_ , a word he then pinned to his memory – with crisp, colorful pieces of paper tucked inside. He didn’t have the energy or emotional capacity to ask how any of this had come to be.

          What struck him the most was how instinct kicked in so quickly; how his body knew he needed to find food although he hadn’t felt hunger in two and a half centuries, how his eyes felt heavy with sleep and each limb begged him to rest whenever he moved.

          This instinct, mixed with the scholar’s voice nagging insistently, led Hakyeon to stumble from the alley and onto a main street. The noise was positively deafening, and he clapped his hands over his ears.

          The sidewalks hummed with idle conversation, and the _whoosh_ of passing cars made him jump in surprise. He had been fascinated by the way Sanghyuk and Hongbin spoke about cars – _“I can’t afford one, so I have to take the subway,”_   they had both said, eyes wide with want and near reverence – but being close to them was a terrifying reality.

          The buildings stood tall, stretching against the darkening sky as people rushed in and out, though he couldn’t imagine what they were hurrying toward. He felt adrift in a sea of dripping umbrellas, utterly alone.

          He took several hesitant steps forward as the crowd jostled and pushed him. His eyes scanned bright storefronts whose signs were plastered with words he recognized as English – Sanghyuk had quite an impressive English vocabulary, although Hongbin had assured Hakyeon that most of the words he knew were not considered appropriate in everyday conversation. Hongbin had taught Hakyeon the majority of the alphabet by drawing letters in the dirt, but he could remember only a handful of words.

          He searched desperately for one of the convenience stores the two had mentioned. He felt sure there would be food there, if the way Hongbin spoke about them had been any indication. The boy had recalled how he spent countless hours perched in rickety chairs eating ramen with wooden chopsticks, his eyes fixed on books and stacks of homework.

          Hakyeon tried to stop, tried to take in each storefront in detail, but the crowd was an endless sea of bodies pushing him forward like a strong current. He stumbled and kept his eyes locked on each passing sign – and there one was, glowing bright in unnatural shades of orange and yellow that hurt his eyes, but the undeniable “convenience store” – a word he had found strange when Hongbin first used it – was written in neat print.

          He rushed inside, flinching at the loud dinging noise that rang throughout the store as he opened the door. He glanced from left to right, trying to determine where the noise had come from. It had sounded almost like a bell, but why would there be bells in a convenience store? Maybe they sold bells. That could explain it.

          The man behind the counter muttered something that he couldn’t quite catch. Hakyeon stopped and turned toward him with an inquisitive, “Yes?”

          The shopkeeper raised a brow. “Welcome,” he repeated dully.

          “Oh.” Hakyeon inclined his head, which seemed like the polite thing to do. “Thank you.”

          The man threw him a puzzled look and returned to the smartphone perched on the countertop. Hakyeon was aching to get a better look at it – Sanghyuk had mentioned them more times than he could count – but he felt sure that grabbing another person’s smartphone would be a breach of social etiquette.

          He instead opted to wander through the shelves overflowing with brightly colored packages and neatly boxed goods. It was all painfully unfamiliar, and he felt his head begin to swim under the onslaught.

          “What do I do?” He whispered under his breath.

          “How did you know I was still here?” He could hear the surprise thick in the scholar’s voice.

          Hakyeon huffed. “It seemed like a safe assumption.”

          He was met with silence.

          He frowned and grabbed a package from the shelf at random. The scholar had briefly explained the system of exchanging currency for goods and services, but his palms felt damp and his heart stuttered uncomfortably. What if he made a mistake?

          He placed the package on the counter as lightly as he could and met the shopkeeper’s gaze. “I’d like to purchase this,” he said, his voice full of feigned confidence.

          The man raked his gaze over Hakyeon curiously before grabbing an item in his hand and placing it near the package. It let out a harsh beeping noise that made Hakyeon jump and take a step back.

          “2,000 won,” the man said.

          Hakyeon snagged the wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a handful of bills at random, flipping through them slowly.

          “It’s two blue ones,” the scholar murmured, and Hakyeon flinched at the sudden sound of his voice. He took a quick breath to calm himself before sliding the bills across the counter.

          The entire transaction couldn’t have lasted more than a minute, but Hakyeon felt jittery and anxious, his heart stuck in his throat. He kept his gaze locked on the package in his hands as he shuffled toward the door.

          The bell-like sound trilled through the store again, and Hakyeon looked up just in time to collide with the person who had opened the door.

          “Sorry!” He yelped as he took several shaky steps backward.

          The man standing in the doorway pulled his umbrella closed. His hair was tousled and he wore a long, dark jacket that reached nearly to his ankles. His eyes were sharp, his lips turned down at the corners. He met Hakyeon’s gaze for the briefest of instants before walking wordlessly to the back of the store.

          The rain was falling in sheets now, and Hakyeon ducked his head as he left the convenience store. The chill bit at his exposed arms and feet. Exhaustion clung to every limb, pulling them down and down until walking became a chore.

          “I need to sleep,” he whispered, hoping that the scholar would point him in the direction of a safe resting place.

          There was no answer.

          “You’re supposed to be helping me.” His voice rose and several people on the sidewalk turned to throw him confused glances. He cleared his throat and lowered his tone. “You’re supposed to be helping me. I have no idea what to _do_.” His voice broke on the last word. He took a breath and tried to quell the anxiety that was rising in his chest.

          The scholar said nothing, and Hakyeon felt utterly alone.

          He wandered the streets endlessly, turning onto twisting alleyways draped with low-slung power lines and flashing lights. Confusion made his head spin and his stomach ache. Every street looked the same as the last. The weight of his soaked clothing only aggravated his exhaustion. Tears clouded his vision and he could feel a sob in the back of his throat. He collapsed to the ground, the package of food falling from his hands and into a shallow puddle. He pulled his knees to his chest and tried to ignore the bitter chill, the exhaustion heavy in his eyes, and the dull ache in each of his bones.

          “Hey, are you okay?” The voice didn’t belong to the scholar, and Hakyeon used the last shred of his energy to pull his head up.

          The man had a bag in one hand and a burgundy umbrella in the other. He stared down at Hakyeon with wide eyes. His hair was fair, the same pale yellow as the soft dirt in the Waiting Place. It was comforting, in a way, to see something that reminded him of more familiar times. The man tilted his umbrella until it was over Hakyeon’s head, shielding him from the freezing onslaught of drops.

          “You must be pretty wasted, man.” He sounded amused, and Hakyeon wondered if being wasted was a good thing.

          “I don’t understand,” Hakyeon said weakly. He hated how small and vulnerable he sounded, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to bring strength back to his voice. “I’m just… lost, I think.”

          “Well, where are you trying to get to?”

          Hakyeon sighed. “I don’t know.”

          The man laughed. “Yep, definitely wasted. You can come upstairs if you want. Mine’s the bookstore on the third floor. Anything beats sitting out here getting soaked to the bone, right?” He flashed a quick smile before hurrying up the steps.

          Hakyeon let his head fall back against the wall. Rainwater pattered against his closed eyelids and goosebumps ran along his forearms.

          “You should go inside.” The scholar’s voice.

          Hakyeon kept his eyes closed. “I can’t trust you, apparently. I’m sitting out here because you didn’t tell me where to go. This is your fault.”

          “It’s always my fault,” the scholar said wryly. “I can’t hold your hand through everything, Hakyeon. There are some things you need to figure out for yourself. I’m only here to guide you when needed.”

          “Well I think it’s needed right now.”

          “That’s why I told you to go inside.”

          Hakyeon huffed and grabbed his food from the puddle. “Fine.” He pulled himself to his feet and swayed under an immediate spell of dizziness, the world swinging back and forth. “I feel awful,” he gasped.

          “Welcome to the world of the living,” the scholar said. His voice was devoid of the wry tone Hakyeon would have expected.

          He gripped the handrail tightly as he dragged his body up the staircase. Each step was slick with collected rainwater and bright with reflected light. Everything tilted at a dizzying and unnatural angle and his head spun. It was a seemingly endless climb, and he felt a sudden warmth envelop his body as the world faded into a velvety black.  

****

          “Oh my dear God, do you think he’s dead?” The voice was high-pitched with panic and vaguely familiar.

          “He’s not dead, Jaehwan. At least, I don’t think so. Try poking him.”

          Hakyeon felt a gentle poke on his cheek. He let his eyes flutter open.

          There were two men hovering over him, sporting identical expressions of panic. Hakyeon recognized the one who had spoken to him on the street. The other man was unfamiliar, his eyes wide beneath a fringe of tousled brown hair.

          “See, Jaehwan? I told you so.” The man with the brown hair sat back on his heels and folded his arms across his chest.

          “Well he looked kinda dead,” the one with the pale hair – Jaehwan? – shot back.

          “I don’t think you can be _kinda_ dead. You’re either dead or you’re not.”

          “Shut up, Junghwan, that’s totally not the point right now.” Jaehwan turned back to Hakyeon with an amused smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Looks like you accepted my invitation to come up here. It was a terrible offer on my part, now that I look back on it. You’re obviously too drunk to get up the stairs.”

          Hakyeon frowned and sat up, his entire body screaming in protest. A dull ache had rooted itself behind his eyes. “Where am I?”

          “The third floor, right outside our bookstore,” Jaehwan replied, gesturing toward the door.

          “You really should come inside,” Junghwan added. “Someone’ll step on you if you stay out here. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen before.”

          Jaehwan extended a hand. “Come on.”

          Hakyeon stared at his outstretched hand and blinked. “What?”

          “I’ll help you up, come on.” He reached down and grabbed Hakyeon’s wrist, tugging on it lightly until Hakyeon pulled himself to his feet.

          Junghwan pulled open the door and Hakyeon froze at the threshold.

          The room was massive and decorated with crisscrossing staircases and wooden walkways, all lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves. Hongbin had often talked about his favorite bookstore, and Hakyeon wondered if it was anything like this. Plush chairs and couches sat grouped around low tables, and potted greenery dotted every other surface. The entire place emitted a warm and comfortable atmosphere that Hakyeon never wanted to leave, yet he felt wary. Anxiety kept its ever-present hold around his neck, and another wave of dizziness washed over him. How comfortable would he ever be in this world, confused and lost with only a disembodied voice to guide him?

          “You should sit down.” Jaehwan ushered him toward the nearest couch.

          Hakyeon sat down gingerly and pulled his knees against his chest. It was warm, and he felt exhaustion tugging at the edges of his mind. He yearned for the blissful emptiness of the Waiting Place, where hunger and fatigue were always kept at bay. He wondered how Hongbin and Sanghyuk were doing.

          “You can sleep there if you want to,” Jaehwan said casually. “Just please don’t puke on anything. Sober up a little and then you can go.”

          “I don’t understand why you always bring drunks in here,” Junghwan yelled from the other side of the room.

          “I’m hoping they’ll buy something out of gratitude!” Jaehwan yelled back.

          Hakyeon frowned and pulled his knees closer to himself. “Is it really okay for me to sleep here?”

          “That’s what I said, yeah.”

          Exhaustion took precedence over the anxiety and suspicion, pulling at his eyelids, tugging at his limbs, and draping a warm comfort over his mind. He pressed his cheek against the couch’s soft fabric and slept.

 

          The fog was thick, reaching out long tendrils that wrapped around his wrists and ankles, pulling him forward, forward, forward. He felt a frigid wind weave through the trees to pierce his skin. There was a gentle humming, a melody as soft as flower petals. His hair was long again; he could feel it pulled back with a ribbon at the nape of his neck. He was in his clothes from the Waiting Place and he reveled in the familiarity. The long coat brushed against the backs of his hands, and his feet felt warm in his shoes.

          He followed the melody through the trees as if it were an old friend; he trusted it completely and knew it would lead him in the right direction. He felt something flutter in his stomach, more excitement than anxiety, though he couldn’t remember what it was he was anticipating.

          The melody grew louder, and he saw a flash of pale purple amidst the trees. It was a man in clothes much like his own, though they were finer, more delicate. He moved through the forest like water, dipping, turning, spinning, and Hakyeon couldn’t see his face. He took a step forward and the man stopped, turned his head –

          Hakyeon’s eyes snapped open to nothing but the white ceiling. He sat up in a panic, eyes darting from side to side, searching for the forest and the man who danced like water. His heart pounded and his breath came in short gasps.

          “What’s going on?” He choked out, hands coming up to press against his eyes.

          “You were dreaming.” The scholar’s voice, soft and casual. “From the looks of it.”

          “Dreaming?” His voice quavered. He swallowed and shook his head.

          “Yes. It happens sometimes, when you sleep. It’s alright, it wasn’t real.”

          “It was so vivid,” Hakyeon gasped, lowering his hands to his bare forearms. “I can still feel everything…”

          “Who are you talking to?” Junghwan’s voice. He was seated in a plush armchair across from Hakyeon, his brows furrowed beneath his tousled hair.

          Hakyeon pulled his knees to his chest again. “No one, I was just… thinking aloud,” he said quickly.

          “Well Jaehwan brought water for you.” He gestured to a glass on the small table between them. “Hopefully you’ve sobered up a bit.”

          Hakyeon took the glass and sipped at the water hesitantly. He felt it hit the pit of his stomach and was reminded of how ravenous he was. It was strange and overwhelming, experiencing a sudden onslaught of sensations he hadn’t felt in two centuries, but his body seemed to fall back into them seamlessly.

          “Do you have any food?” The question fell from his lips without much thought, and he instantly wished he could reach out and grab them back. These people weren’t responsible for taking care of him, some strange boy they had found on the street –

          Junghwan waved vaguely toward the door. “Jaehwan just went to go get fried chicken or something. I’m sure he’d let you join us if you agree to buy a book before you leave.”

          Hakyeon frowned and desperately wished he could ask the scholar for clarification. Was it normal for people to share food with strangers in order to promote their business? He swallowed and willed his voice not to shake. “I can buy a book.” He hoped he had enough money for one.

          “I’m back!” Jaehwan’s voice rang throughout the building as the front door opened and he shuffled in with bags slung over his arms and his umbrella dripping on the wood paneled floor. “And I brought Taekwoon!”

          Junghwan sighed and dropped his head into his hands.

          A man crossed the threshold behind Jaehwan and pulled his dark umbrella closed. The movement of air from the door swinging shut caused his dark jacket to flutter around his ankles. His eyes were sharp, and Hakyeon recognized him instantly as the man he had collided with at the convenience store.

          A dozen of Sanghyuk’s curse words came to mind as he felt his face flush. He averted his gaze and wrapped his arms tighter around his knees.

          “Glad to see you’re awake,” Jaehwan said. He dropped the bags onto the table and tugged an armchair closer to Junghwan, who only rolled his eyes. There was something comfortable and casual about their relationship, and it was then that Hakyeon realized his ability from the Waiting Place had entirely vanished. He could imagine the bright blue of friendship settling around their shoulders, but saw only empty air. He made a mental note to ask the scholar about it later.

          The man in the dark coat – Taekwoon? – hovered awkwardly near Jaehwan’s armchair, keeping his gaze locked on the ground.

          “Sit down, Taekwoon. You know I hate it when you hover.” Jaehwan waved a hand toward the couch, and Taekwoon’s eyebrows rose when he saw Hakyeon sitting there. He mumbled something under his breath.

          Jaehwan let out a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t care if he ran into you at the convenience store, it won’t kill you to sit next to him.”

          Taekwoon’s lips twisted into a scowl, and he perched himself on the edge of one of the couch cushions, as far from Hakyeon as the space would allow.

          The atmosphere was icy and uncomfortable, and Hakyeon felt his chest begin to ache. Would it really be possible for him to ever fit in here?

          “I can leave,” he said meekly, pushing himself up from the couch.

          Jaehwan shook his head vehemently, his mouth already full of chicken. He motioned for Hakyeon to sit back down.

          “That means he wants you to stay,” Junghwan explained. “Don’t mind Taekwoon, he’s always a bit of a grump to be honest.”

          “I am not,” Taekwoon muttered. It was the first time Hakyeon had heard him speak. His voice was like flower petals, soft and delicate, and Hakyeon felt his chest constrict. It was as if all the air had been sucked from the room and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t move. There was humming in his ears, the same soft melody from his dream, and the voice – he _knew_ that voice, the voice that was more familiar to him than his own heartbeat. The fluttering in his stomach was there again, that strange mix of anxiety and excitement, and he could feel _something_ hovering on the edges of his mind, almost close enough to touch. It was a part of him, a piece of him that time had ripped away. He felt it like a physical loss, an aching in his chest and a yearning in his bones. There was something there, _something_ …

          His fingers curled inward, nails digging sharp crescents into his palms, and the pain brought him back to reality. Air rushed back into his lungs and he coughed, his head spinning and aching.

          “Good God, are you okay?” Jaehwan stared at him with wide eyes.

          “Do you always have fits like that?” Junghwan asked. His knuckles were white where he gripped the arms of his chair.

          “You can’t just ask people if they have fits, that’s rude,” Jaehwan admonished, turning his stare to Junghwan.

          “Well if it’s something medical he might need to go to the hospital!”

          “Shit, you’re right.” Jaehwan’s brow furrowed. “Should we take him to the hospital? Maybe it was a seizure or something, oh my God--”

          Even Taekwoon was staring at him, eyebrows low over his dark eyes.

          “What happened?” Hakyeon gasped. He brought his hands up to press against his chest, where his heart fluttered like a trapped hummingbird.

          “Your eyes went all glassy there for a minute.” Jaehwan’s tone was slow and measured, as if Hakyeon wouldn’t understand. “You started gasping for air and staring at nothing. It was scary, really. Do we need to get you to a hospital?”

          Hakyeon frowned and clutched at the thin fabric of his shirt. Something was still there, burning hot and steady at the edges of his mind. He wanted to reach for it and bring it toward himself, merge it with his body until he was whole again. It felt like a piece of him that had been stolen. But the closer he got to it, the farther it moved, taunting and teasing him with false hope. He stood on shaky legs.

          “I think I need some air,” he whispered. He all but ran to the door, yanking it open before stumbling down the slick stairs.

          The freezing rain helped to clear his head as it pattered against his hair and clung to his eyelashes. He rested his forehead against the wall and took a deep breath. “What the hell was that?”

          The scholar said nothing, and Hakyeon wasn’t sure if he was there at all.

          “I need your help.” His voice broke on the last word. “I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what I’m feeling and seeing and hearing. It seems like I was so close to _something_ , but I don’t even know what it was.”

          He was met with silence.   

          He could feel a sob forming in the back of his throat. He tried to swallow it down, but it rose and rose until he was shaking with the force of it, tears chasing each other down to his chin where they mingled with the rain.

          He sank to his knees and cold water soaked through his jeans. He wanted to scream and tear the street apart, rip the buildings down with his bare hands just to show the universe the full force of his pain. This wasn’t fair, this wasn’t _right_. How could this be a second chance, an existence, a life? He was alone, save for a handful of strangers who didn’t even know his name, and he felt as if pieces of him had been chipped away until he was only half a person. He had experienced something he couldn’t begin to explain, and the scholar seemed to have faded back into the comfort of the Waiting Place. Hakyeon wished he could follow.

          The sensation of raindrops on his head stopped suddenly, and he glanced upward. A black umbrella was tilted over him, and he was surprised that Jaehwan had the heart enough to do this twice in one day. He looked over his shoulder and was just about to tell him he could leave –

          Taekwoon’s lips were turned down at the corners, and Hakyeon felt his heart somewhere in his throat. He wiped at his tears hastily. “W-what are you doing here?”

          “I could ask you the same question.”

          And again there was something _there_ , skirting the edges of his mind, slipping in and out of sight, evading his every move. That voice as soft as petals, that humming in his ears, a faceless man dancing through misty trees. But what did it _mean?_

          Hakyeon took a breath. “Yes, I suppose you could.” He pulled himself to his feet and ducked his head, keeping his gaze on his soaked sandals. 

          “Can I ask you something?” The question was abrupt, and Hakyeon glanced up. Their eyes locked and there was that anticipation, that excitement from his dream that made no sense.

          “Yes, of course.” His voice was small and he wasn’t sure why.  

          Taekwoon let out a breath and Hakyeon saw his grip tighten around the umbrella’s handle before the question tumbled from his lips: “Have we met before?”

         

crossposted on [aff ](https://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1288258/3)| [tumblr](http://excelgesis.tumblr.com/post/166371984868/free-of-any-eden-chapter-3-wc-5613-pairing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your continued interest and support! ^^  
> (special thanks to ayesha for being my beta reader <3 ily)


	4. Storm Clouds

          “Excuse me?” Hakyeon’s voice quavered.

          Taekwoon’s brows were low over dark eyes. “Have we met? You seem familiar somehow.”

          “I did run into you at the convenience store,” Hakyeon murmured, turning his gaze back to the ground.

          Taekwoon huffed. “I mean besides that.”

          And again, Hakyeon felt that feathery voice in his chest, in his mind, tumbling down to the tips of his fingers. He was willing to follow that voice to the ends of the earth and back, and that frightened him more than anything else. There was an aching loss that he couldn’t shake, strong enough to take his breath away.

          “I don’t know,” he whispered. “You seem familiar, too.”

          “Is he okay?” The question echoed down the staircase as Jaehwan stumbled out onto the street. Junghwan was right at his heels, nearly crashing into his back as he skidded to a stop on the asphalt.

          “Jesus Christ, Jaehwan,” he muttered under his breath as he caught himself on Jaehwan’s shoulders.

          Hakyeon turned his gaze to them and instantly flushed under their scrutiny. He could feel Taekwoon’s eyes on him, too, and he wanted to shrink into himself. That unidentifiable _something_ twisted back into the darkest corners of his mind, but what did Taekwoon have to do with it?

          “I’m fine,” he said softly. He tried to quirk his mouth up into a semblance of a smile, if only to put Jaehwan’s mind at ease. He seemed genuinely kind, and Hakyeon wasn’t sure how common that trait would be in the people of this lifetime.

          Jaehwan frowned. “Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor? My car’s parked up the road, it’s really not any trouble--”

          Hakyeon shook his head. Drops of cold rainwater snaked from his hair down to his shirt collar. “I’m fine, really. No need to worry.” He hoped that saying the words aloud would make them true.

          “Come back upstairs then,” Jaehwan urged, gesturing toward the staircase. “I bought enough food for all of us, you know.”

          “How do you know him?” Taekwoon asked suddenly. He tilted his head toward Hakyeon.

          Jaehwan shrugged. “I don’t know him, really. Found him sitting out here in a puddle looking pathetic and miserable. I figured he drank too much and could use a dry place to sleep and sober up.”

          Taekwoon scoffed. “Why would you do that for a stranger?”

          “Well, I’d like someone to do it for me. I fully believe that karma will find its way back around one day. Plus, he might decide to buy a book out of gratitude.”

          Junghwan sighed from behind him.

          “And hey, I could ask you the same thing,” Jaehwan added, raising an eyebrow at Taekwoon. “You were the first one to run after him, weren’t you? Lent him your umbrella and everything.”

          Taekwoon took in the umbrella over his and Hakyeon’s heads and yanked it back forcefully. Hakyeon flinched as an onslaught of freezing drops pelted his head and shoulders. He glanced at Taekwoon, eyes wide, but the other had turned his gaze to the side.

          “Kind as ever, I see,” Junghwan muttered sardonically. He let out another deep sigh and headed back up the staircase.

          Jaehwan reached out to grab Hakyeon’s wrist, tugging him toward the entryway with an encouraging smile.

          “Hakyeon.”

          It was soft, so soft Hakyeon thought he must have misheard. He turned back, his arm going slack in Jaehwan’s grip. Taekwoon stood in the middle of the street, his expression unreadable beneath his dripping umbrella.

          “How did you…” Hakyeon breathed. He let the question trail off as his mind spun in dizzying circles.

          How could this man possibly know his name?

          “I don’t know.” Taekwoon’s words were heavy with unease.

          Hakyeon staggered under a sudden spell of dizziness. “I don’t understand,” he gasped, reaching out blindly to steady himself against the wall. He felt Jaehwan lay a gentle hand on his shoulder.

          Taekwoon’s eyebrows knitted together, and he turned without saying anything more. His dark coat fluttered behind him as he made his way up the street.

          Hakyeon felt his absence like a blow to the chest, and that was the most frightening of all.

****

          The atmosphere in the bookstore was somber. Jaehwan snuck glances at him over his plate of fried chicken, and Junghwan had asked him if he was okay half a dozen times in less than an hour.

          “I’m okay,” Hakyeon repeated. His mind wandered in endless loops and he picked at his food, his appetite suddenly gone. He found himself wishing – for the thousandth time – that the scholar would answer his unspoken questions. Was it normal for another person to spark such an intense response?

          “Have you met Taekwoon before?” Jaehwan asked, setting his plate back down on the table between them. “Maybe in passing, or as a friend of a friend or something?”

          “No,” Hakyeon murmured simply. How could he begin to explain that he had existed in a frozen limbo for centuries, kept entirely apart from the world in which they lived?

          Jaehwan hummed. “He seemed to know you, if only barely.”

          “Did you say something to set him off?” Junghwan leaned back in his armchair. “He’s not the warmest person, but he never just leaves without saying something first.”

          “I don’t know what happened.” Hakyeon’s voice sounded painfully small, even to his own ears. He frowned and pulled his knees against his chest.

          Jaehwan shrugged and added another piece of chicken to his plate. “Maybe you met a long time ago and just forgot about it.”

          “And,” Junghwan added, tapping a finger against his chin. “He suddenly remembered, and it turns out it was a horrible and heart-wrenching memory.” His voice had taken on a dramatic edge. He pointed at Jaehwan and raised both eyebrows.

          Jaehwan pointed back. “And now he’s so lost in grief and pain that he can’t bear to look him in the eye. A tale of tragic loss, of two people bound by fate.”

          The two high-fived and Hakyeon’s frown deepened.

          “I don’t think it’s anything like that,” he said.

          “Oh, come on.” Junghwan folded his arms. “It totally could be.”

          Hakyeon shook his head. “We’ve never met before, I’m sure of it.” But there was something there, buried deep down in a hidden part of himself, that seemed to disagree.

          “He knew your name, though,” Jaehwan pointed out. He held up a chicken bone and jabbed it in Hakyeon’s direction, as if the action could put more force behind his words.

          “I…” Hakyeon fought against the tugging and twisting in his head. “I must have mentioned my name without realizing.” That was the only possible explanation, and he dug back through his memories of the day, trying to recall each and every detail.

          “Hakyeon,” Junghwan said pensively. He propped his head up with one hand. “An interesting name, really. I don’t remember you mentioning it, but what do I know?”

          “Either way, something set Taekwoon off. Where the hell did he even go? He didn’t even say goodbye. How rude.” There was a sharp edge of annoyance in Jaehwan’s tone.

          “Back home to daddy’s money, I’m sure,” Junghwan muttered.         

          Jaehwan shot him a pointed glare. “Dude, I know you don’t like Taekwoon, but there’s more to him than just money.”

          “I highly doubt that.”

          Jaehwan let out an exasperated sigh and sunk down in his armchair. “Why am I still friends with you?”

          “Because this bookstore is your only source of income and no one else agreed to work here,” Junghwan said flatly.

          Hakyeon watched their antics with an unexpected smile playing around the edges of his lips. They reminded him a bit of Hongbin and Sanghyuk, and his chest ached at the thought. How were they doing back in the Waiting Place? When would they get their second chances, and what would the world be like when they did?

          The sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see a group of girls hurrying across the threshold. They stowed their umbrellas and meandered along the walkways, talking idly amongst themselves. Hakyeon had forgotten for a brief moment that this was a fully operational bookstore, and the sight of other people brought reality into crystal-clear focus. Anxiety trickled through his veins like acid when he realized he had nowhere to spend the night and no idea how to survive.

          Junghwan had hurried to the other side of the store and was chatting animatedly with the customers. Jaehwan got to his feet and began stacking the discarded plates into a neat pile.

          “Um…” Hakyeon cleared his throat and leaned forward. “I’m sorry to ask this, but um… Do you know of anywhere I could spend the night?” His heart stuttered in his chest. How would he possibly make a life out of this?

          Jaehwan’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “Damn, that bad, huh? You must have had a rough day.”

          “You could say that,” Hakyeon said softly. He twisted his hands into the fabric of his shirt and prayed that Jaehwan wouldn’t question him further.

          “There’s a hotel a couple streets over but I have no idea what they charge. I’d let you crash on the couch at our place, but Junghwan would probably freak out.”

          Hakyeon blinked. How could one person be so unfailingly kind? He swallowed and shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to be a burden, anyway.”

          “You wouldn’t be a burden, it’s not like we use the couch at night.” Jaehwan balanced the stack of plates in one hand. “You know what? I’m going to go ask him right now. He owes me since he was so rude about Taekwoon earlier.” He lifted one shoulder in a small shrug and headed to the front counter, where he dumped the plates in the trash. He all but skipped over to Junghwan, who was sliding a bag of books toward one of the customers. She slung the bag over one wrist and linked arms with her friends before exiting the store.

          “What?” The question had fallen from Junghwan’s lips before he had even turned to see Jaehwan standing behind him.

          Hakyeon watched as Jaehwan pouted and tugged on his sleeve.

          And the bookstore dissolved, falling to pieces around him, tumbling and melting into a myriad of colors in his mind’s eye. He could see a cart with bolts of colorful fabric, could smell spring blossoms thick in the air – but how long had it been since he had experienced spring? He could feel someone tugging insistently on his jacket sleeve, could hear a soft voice, muffled and distorted like his head was underwater. He turned toward the person behind him, a blurred figure with those sharp, dark eyes—

          And he resurfaced, clawing his way up through the vision until his mind broke through. He gasped and his fingers curled into the fabric of the couch as the books and shelves found their proper places. His chest hurt, a dull and steady pain above his ribs. His lashes were wet with tears and he had the sensation that something had been taken from him. Only half a person, only half alive—

          “But seriously,” Jaehwan’s voice was quiet. “I mean, think about it.”

          “It’s a little hard for me to believe,” Junghwan countered just as quietly. “What are the odds that a North Korean defector would end up in our bookstore?”

          “It could totally happen. I heard they’re all disoriented when they get to Seoul.”

          “Okay, but it’s super rare for them to leave by themselves. Usually they go in like little groups, you know? Isn’t it safer that way?”

          Jaehwan sighed. “Maybe he got separated from his group. Who knows how all that shit works? All I’m saying is I think we should take care of him for at least a few days.”

          “He isn’t our responsibility, Jaehwan. You should take him to the government if you really think he’s a defector.”

          “Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”

          “No, I think it’s smart. The government knows what to do to help them assimilate.”

          “Who uses the word ‘assimilate’?”

          “Dear God, Jaehwan,” Junghwan groaned. “Shut up before I strangle you. And look at him, he doesn’t exactly look like a defector, does he?” They turned their gazes to him, and Hakyeon saw them both jump when he made eye contact.

          He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair nervously. He found himself wishing for it to be long again so he could use it as a curtain to shield himself. He felt bare and exposed like this, as if all of his vulnerabilities were painted on in bright colors for everyone to see.   

          “How can you say no to that face?” Jaehwan raised a brow and elbowed Junghwan in the ribs.

          Junghwan moved to the side and pushed his arm away. “He’s not some puppy you’re looking to adopt. Stop talking about him like that.”

          “You are really a cold-hearted bastard, you know that?” Jaehwan crossed his arms.

          “And you’re a fucking oversensitive sap.”

          “Good God, what are you fighting about this time?” A low voice echoed throughout the room and Hakyeon jumped in surprise.

          The speaker let the door fall closed behind him. His hair was tousled and dark, and he shook his head as he pulled his umbrella closed. His sweatshirt was splattered with rainwater and covered in English letters that formed words Hakyeon didn’t recognize.

          “Wonshik!” Jaehwan yelled, running to him and clinging to one of his arms.

          Wonshik grinned, his eyes crinkling upward into crescents. He reached out to brush a lock of hair back from Jaehwan’s forehead. The fondness in his eyes was almost overwhelming, and Hakyeon found himself leaning forward as if on instinct. He knew that fondness from the Waiting Place, when the deep red of love wound its way across a couple’s shoulders. It was intriguing to see it here, laid out so openly in front of him.

          “Junghwan’s being rude!” Jaehwan pouted.

          “Isn’t he always?”

          “Hey!” Junghwan shouted from the counter. “I can hear you!”

          “Hey!” Wonshik yelled back, his previous grin still lingering around the corners of his lips. “Don’t be a dick to Jaehwan.”

          “This isn’t even about Jaehwan!” Junghwan threw his arms into the air. “This is about _him_.” He gestured toward Hakyeon.

          Hakyeon frowned and shrunk back, his mind screaming a thousand different warnings. It seemed wrong to be so involved with these people, and he didn’t want them to inconvenience themselves on his behalf more than they already had.

          “I’ll leave,” he said quietly, pushing himself up from the couch. Jaehwan grabbed his arm as he approached the door and yanked him back.

          “No you won’t. You can stay at our place tonight.”

          “No you can’t!” Junghwan yelled.

          “Yes he can! Let me earn some good motherfucking karma!” Jaehwan shouted, tugging on Hakyeon’s arm forcefully for emphasis.

          Hakyeon took a step back and tried to pull his arm from Jaehwan’s grip. “It’s fine, really. I’ll just go to that hotel you mentioned--”

          Wonshik held up a hand and Hakyeon swallowed back the rest of his words. “Who is this, and what the hell is going on?”

          “He’s Hakyeon,” Jaehwan said, glancing up at Wonshik with wide eyes. “He doesn’t have a place to stay tonight, so I offered to let him crash on the couch at my place.”

          “ _Our_ place,” Junghwan corrected.

          Wonshik’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Why are you two arguing over this?”

          “He could be a fucking serial murderer!” Junghwan screeched. “I’m not just gonna throw open my front door like, ‘Hey come on in, feel free to kill me in my sleep as long as you clean up the mess.’”

          Jaehwan heaved a dramatic sigh. “You see what I mean, Wonshik? He’s being completely unreasonable.”

          Wonshik eyed Hakyeon carefully. “He doesn’t look like a serial murderer.”

          “That’s what a serial murderer would want you to think,” Junghwan said flatly.

          Hakyeon tried to tug his arm from Jaehwan’s grasp again. All attention being turned on him made his fingers shake, but he didn’t know what to say to remedy the situation. The truth was far too outlandish, but the other theories being thrown around the room didn’t seem much better.

          “It’s really fine,” he said, his voice quavering halfway through.

          “He could stay at my place if it means that much.” Wonshik’s tone was light, as if it were the simplest solution in all the world. “Any friend of Jaehwan’s is a friend of mine.”

          “They aren’t friends.” Junghwan’s voice was tight with exasperation. “We literally just met a few hours ago.”

          Wonshik shrugged. “That’s enough time to become friends with someone.”

          “Exactly!” Jaehwan crowed in triumph. “I knew you’d understand!” He hooked his arm around Wonshik’s elbow and turned to Hakyeon. “You’ll like Wonshik’s place, it’s super comfortable.”

          Hakyeon’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them as he weighed his options. He wasn’t sure how to reserve a room at a hotel, and the scholar’s help was unreliable at best. A dozen questions burned steady at the back of his mind, but he hadn’t heard the scholar’s voice in hours. His limbs were still heavy with exhaustion, and he could feel an anxious weight in the pit of his stomach. What other option did he have?

          “I’d really hate to burden anyone,” he whispered.

          “It’s not a burden at all.” Wonshik waved a dismissive hand. “As long as you’re okay with sleeping on the couch, I don’t mind.”

          Hakyeon’s mind was alight with guilt-tinged worry, but he looked to the ground and muttered a soft, “thank you”.

          “We can head out now if you want.” Wonshik jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the door. “I just came by to give you that money I owe you,” he said to Jaehwan, nudging him gently in the side with an elbow.

          Jaehwan shook his head. “I said it was on me. I’m not letting you pay me back.”

          Wonshik rolled his eyes and tugged a wad of crumpled bills from his pocket. “You’re too nice for your own good.” He shoved the money into Jaehwan’s hand.

          Jaehwan pouted at that but pocketed the bills nonetheless.

          Wonshik pulled his arm from Jaehwan’s grasp and reached out to ruffle his hair affectionately. “I’ll stop by again tomorrow, okay?”

          Jaehwan grinned sunshine bright and nodded. “Sounds good.”

          Hakyeon ducked his head in his direction as he followed Wonshik out the door. “Thank you for everything.”

          “Don’t mention it,” Jaehwan chirped. He waved, and the door swung shut in front of him.

****

          Wonshik’s apartment was within walking distance, and he chattered animatedly the entire way. Hakyeon was grateful that he didn’t pry, and he used the time to learn more about the people he had come into contact with.

          Jaehwan and Wonshik had met in college and remained close friends ever since. Jaehwan and Junghwan had been friends since childhood and seemed to be at each other’s throats more often than not.

          “Why do they live together if they argue so much?” Hakyeon had asked softly. He could still imagine the bright blue of friendship between them, constant and steady, but had also seen firsthand how their different perspectives threatened that image.

          “They’re closer than they seem,” Wonshik had replied. “Their personalities are almost exact opposites, so it keeps them balanced out. Jaehwan brings out Junghwan’s spontaneous side, while Junghwan keeps Jaehwan grounded and a little more careful.” He shrugged. “They’re a great pair, really.”

          Hakyeon mulled it over as he followed Wonshik along the crowded sidewalk. He had seen affection bloom between clashing personalities before and had also seen those same relationships shatter into pieces at the slightest hint of trouble. They were volatile and needed to be handled carefully, which had intrigued him in the Waiting Place. Experiencing them firsthand was different entirely, and a rising tide of questions filled his head.

          “This is it,” Wonshik announced, gesturing toward a white building that stretched tall against the dark sky. Hakyeon followed him through a glass door and watched as he pressed a button on the wall. A loud dinging sound echoed throughout the lobby, and silver doors set into the wall creaked open. Hakyeon took a step back.

          “What is that?” His hands had started shaking again.

          Wonshik poked his head out, and Hakyeon thought for one terrifying second that the doors would close against it.

          “Uh… the elevator?” Wonshik quirked a brow.

          Hakyeon’s palms were slick with sweat. How had everyone forgotten to mention this to him? Wonshik seemed entirely unfazed, but the thought of walking between the doors made Hakyeon’s chest constrict.

          “Is it…safe?”

          “As far as I know.”

          Hakyeon took several shaky steps forward and tentatively stepped into the elevator. The doors slid closed behind him and he pressed his back flat against the wall. It lurched and began to rise, and Hakyeon’s eyes instantly flew shut.

          “I don’t like this,” he gasped.

          “Dude, you should have told me you were afraid of elevators. We could have taken the stairs.” Wonshik’s tone was stilted with worry.

          Hakyeon shook his head violently and pressed his lips together.

          After several more agonizing seconds, another loud ding signaled the end, and Hakyeon tumbled through the doors in relief. He leaned against the wall and tried to calm his racing heart.

          “You okay, man?” Wonshik’s eyes were wide.

          Hakyeon swallowed and nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

          “Jesus, you’d think you had never been in an elevator before. You’re really a weird kid, you know?”

          Hakyeon worried his bottom lip between his teeth and pushed himself away from the wall. “I’m sorry, I guess I overreacted a little. I’m fine, really.”

          “A little?” Wonshik scoffed. “Did you live under a rock or something until now?”

          Hakyeon wasn’t sure what that phrase was supposed to mean, so he settled for staring at his shoes and wringing his hands.

          Wonshik let out a breath and walked down the hallway. “Apartment’s this way,” he called over his shoulder. “Number 502.”

          Hakyeon inhaled deeply and followed him.

          Wonshik’s apartment was cluttered but not uncomfortable. Stray notebooks and dishes were piled on nearly every surface, but Hakyeon thought it felt alive, as if Wonshik’s own heart thrummed against the walls. It was oddly relieving to be somewhere so personal. Hakyeon felt like he was one step closer to truly understanding how people lived and thrived outside of the tiny window he had been given in the Waiting Place.

          Wonshik cleared his throat and kicked off his shoes at the door. “Sorry it’s such a mess. I live alone, so…” He let the statement trail off into silence.

          “I like it.” Hakyeon unstrapped his sandals and stepped out of them.

          Wonshik chuckled under his breath and shook his head. “You’re a weird dude.” He strode into the living room and dug through the contents of a small closet, pulling out a heap of blankets and pillows. He dropped them unceremoniously onto the couch. “I hope this is comfortable enough for you. It’s all I got.”

          Hakyeon took in the sleek TV perched on the opposite wall, the table in the center of the room dotted with pencils and sheets of paper, and the off-white couch with its mound of blankets. It was more than he ever could have asked for.

          “It’s perfect,” he said softly. “Thank you so much.”

          Wonshik rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s no problem, man. Jaehwan seems to like you a lot, and that’s enough for me.”

          Hakyeon tilted his head to the side to study him. In the Waiting Place, affection had been a curse, tugging at him relentlessly and forcing him to see that which he had given up. But here, affection took on an almost palpable force that intrigued him. It was obvious in their voices, the way they held themselves, the tiny movements of their hands. He had seen it between Junghwan and Jaehwan in a comfort that permeated the air even when they began to butt heads. With Wonshik and Jaehwan it was different, tinged with a thinly-veiled tension he had seen a thousand times.

          “How long have you and Jaehwan been together?”

          Wonshik glanced upward. “We’ve been friends since college, didn’t I mention that already? I thought I did.”

          Hakyeon waved a hand. “No, no. I mean romantically.”

          Wonshik coughed suddenly and the tips of his ears had taken on a bright red tint. “Excuse me?” He spluttered.

          Hakyeon frowned and reached toward him, unsure of how to respond. He eventually settled on, “Are you okay?” and a pat on the shoulder.

          Wonshik wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. “Jaehwan and I aren’t together romantically,” he said. The red from his ears was creeping toward his face and neck.

          Hakyeon blinked. He could remember years’ worth of romantic affection from the Waiting Place, so surely he couldn’t be wrong?

          “You’re not?” The disbelief in his voice hung in the air like smoke.

          Wonshik shook his head vehemently. “Why would you even ask that?”

          Hakyeon took a step back, his face flushing. “S-Sorry, I just thought… I mean, the way you look at him is so…” He trailed off.

          “So what?” Wonshik’s lips had turned down at the corners.

          “Nothing, nothing.” Hakyeon waved his hands frantically. “I’m sorry for asking.” He could feel his heart in his throat again. Was it against social norms to ask people about their relationships? It had seemed like a simple enough question to him, so why had Wonshik reacted so negatively?

          Wonshik cleared his throat. “It’s fine, man. Don’t worry about it. Just… get some sleep, alright? I’ve got to be up early for work.” His hand dropped in a halfhearted wave before he headed for his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

          Hakyeon let out a shaky breath and sat on the edge of the couch. His fingers curled into the blankets when he felt a sob in the back of his throat. He was frustrated that now, in a corporeal body with a thousand reactions, his default was tears. Crying made him feel small and he hated it, hated how it tore his throat raw as it clawed its way up and left him feeling empty. He pulled a blanket over his shoulders and swallowed the tears back.

          “A successful first day, don’t you think?”

          Hakyeon jumped at the sound of the scholar’s voice. The tears morphed almost instantly into a steady sort of fury. “No thanks to you,” he hissed under his breath.

          “I believe I’ve helped you enough,” the scholar muttered, his tone thick with offense.

          “I don’t think ‘help’ is the right word here.”

          The scholar tutted. “You’d be nowhere without me, Cha Hakyeon. Don’t forget that.”

          Hakyeon huffed. “I could do without your attitude, thanks. I’d still be stuck on the street if I was relying on you. Where the hell have you been?”

          “I have a million other souls to watch over. I can’t dedicate all my time to you.”

          Hakyeon scowled and buried his face in one of the pillows.

          “I do have a question for you, though.”

          “What?” Hakyeon asked directly into the pillow, not bothering to turn his head.

          “Can you still not see me?”

          Hakyeon sighed and turned his head to the side, scanning Wonshik’s darkened living room. “I don’t see anything.”

          The scholar was silent for a long moment. “You don’t crack easily, Cha Hakyeon.” His tone was pensive.

          “What is that supposed to mean? I’m getting tired of the way you speak.” Hakyeon frowned and buried his face back into the pillow.

          The scholar merely hummed and said nothing more.

****

          It was a balmy night, and Hakyeon could feel velvety darkness wrap around him like a familiar blanket. It was comforting, and he strolled along the path in the trees without much conscious thought. The route was printed in his mind’s eye as if drawn by a skilled cartographer’s hand.

          He heard the humming first, tumbling through the forest like river water. It was bright and clear as always, and he smiled at the sound.

          Hakyeon knew the man would be there. He had never doubted him. He saw him dip through the trees, spinning and whirling with a fan clasped in one hand. Hakyeon felt a pressure in his chest as he watched him. It was a strong affection, stronger than he had ever felt, and it nearly took his breath away. He wanted to embrace it and push it away at the same time, and it left him faltering at the path’s edge.

          The humming stopped and the man turned toward him at the sound of his footsteps. His eyes were dark and sharp, his hair pulled up into a severe topknot. But the softest smile played around his lips when he saw Hakyeon, and the affection rushed back like a swelling tide.

          The man rushed forward, snapping the fan closed in his hand. His other hand reached for Hakyeon’s, and the feeling of their fingers intertwining was so familiar and so wonderfully safe.

          “Taekwoon.” The name was like honey on his tongue. “I missed you.”

          “I missed you, as well,” Taekwoon murmured. “A week without you feels like a lifetime.”

          And Hakyeon’s breath vanished from his chest, the scene fell apart and shattered like glass on concrete and he couldn’t _breathe_.

          Cold raindrops snaked along his neck and caught in his eyelashes. Rainwater collected in the potholes that pockmarked the asphalt.

          Taekwoon was in front of him in a suit and necktie, his hair tousled beneath his umbrella. His dark coat fluttered in the wind.

          “Have we met before?” A harsh question in that soft voice.

          _In another lifetime, perhaps._

          But Hakyeon did not say so.

 

          His eyes fluttered open and he gasped at the pain in his chest. The blankets fell from his shoulders as he sat upright, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

          “You okay, man?” Wonshik’s deep voice.

          Hakyeon looked over his shoulder to see him standing in the entranceway to the kitchen with a cup in one hand and his smartphone in the other.

          Hakyeon swallowed and pressed his hands to his eyes. “Yes, sorry. Just… a bad dream, I think.” He could still feel Taekwoon’s hand in his, warm and comforting.

But he had met Taekwoon only yesterday.

Something in his head was yelling, alarm bells were ringing, something seemed so indescribably _wrong_. Taekwoon’s name on his tongue felt as familiar as his own, his hand in his felt like an extension of himself. Everything was too vivid, too tangible and real.

          “Do you want some coffee?” Wonshik raised a brow at him.

          The question dragged him back from his thoughts. “Um…” Hongbin and Sanghyuk had both been avid coffee drinkers when they were alive, and Hakyeon had always been curious. “Sure?”

          “Do you want it black?”

          Hakyeon blinked. “Uh. Yes?”

          Wonshik nodded and headed back to the kitchen. He returned with a cup and placed it on the table in front of Hakyeon.

          Hakyeon grabbed the handle and stared into the cup’s contents. It was a steaming liquid, so dark brown it was nearly black. The smell was overwhelming and his nose wrinkled. He brought the cup to his lips and took a hesitant sip.

          “Agh!” He spluttered and wiped at his mouth frantically. It was terribly bitter, sliding against his throat and leaving a horrid taste at the back of his tongue. “Oh my God, it’s awful!” He put the cup back on the table.

          Wonshik’s eyes were wide. “Have you never had coffee before?”

          “Um…” Hakyeon scrambled for a coherent answer. “I mean, of course I have. I’ve just never had it” – what was the word Wonshik had used? – “black. Right. Black.”

          Wonshik frowned and took a sip from his own coffee. “Should have said so, then. I do have creamer if you want it.”

          “I’m fine, thank you, though.” Hakyeon glowered at the cup of coffee and pushed it farther across the table.

          A light knock sounded at the door, and both he and Wonshik turned toward the sound. Wonshik set his coffee down and went to pull the door open.

          “I forgot you were coming for a second,” he said.

          “I come here every morning. How could you forget?” The voice was feathery and soft, and Hakyeon felt ice in his veins. He knew that voice.

          Taekwoon stepped across the threshold and kicked off his shoes. He was in a suit and tie again, coupled with his long jacket, and a pair of round glasses were perched on the end of his nose. He jumped visibly when he saw Hakyeon sitting on the couch.

          “What is he doing here?” The tremor in his voice was evident.

          “Jaehwan said he needed a place to spend the night. He’s apparently a new friend or something.” Wonshik shrugged.

          Taekwoon swallowed. “I don’t want him here.”

          Wonshik blinked, visibly taken aback. “What?”

          “I want him to get out.”

          “Do you know him?”

          “No.” There was a hard edge in his tone that Hakyeon could nearly feel.

          “Dude, it’s my apartment. I don’t mind him being here.”

          Taekwoon pursed his lips into a thin line and turned back toward the door. “If he stays, then I’m leaving.”

          “Whoa.” Wonshik raised a hand and looked from Taekwoon to Hakyeon and then back again. “Is there a problem between the two of you?”

          Hakyeon could feel his stomach turn to water. He could see the soft and gentle Taekwoon from his dream, all light touches and hushed words. But he barely knew Taekwoon. So then why did his voice set his heart fluttering? Why did he feel the need to reach out and pull him closer? Why did this stranger feel so achingly familiar?

          “There’s no problem,” Taekwoon muttered as he pulled his shoes back onto his feet. He looked pointedly at Wonshik. “I’ll be at the coffee shop.” He stepped out and the door slammed shut behind him.

          Hakyeon felt tears building along his lashes. Taekwoon walking away brought him physical pain, but _why?_ What right did he have to make Hakyeon feel this way? What did it all mean?

          He scrambled up from the couch and yanked the door open, ignoring Wonshik’s protesting shouts.

          Taekwoon was waiting for the elevator to arrive. His hands were balled into fists at his sides.

          Hakyeon strode toward him, anxiety and anger mixing in his veins. He reached out to grab one of Taekwoon’s wrists, and the shock that rippled through Hakyeon’s body was nearly painful. He gasped and released his grip.

          Taekwoon drew in a breath and stepped back, eyes wide. He shook his head and took another step away from Hakyeon. “Don’t touch me,” he hissed.

          “I want you to explain,” Hakyeon said. He tried to put every ounce of hurt and confusion and longing into the words.

          Taekwoon raised a brow. “I don’t have anything to explain to you.”

          The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Taekwoon moved to step inside, but Hakyeon reached forward and grabbed his wrist again. The shock was there, arcing like lightning in a storm, and Taekwoon stiffened. His eyes were dark as pitch when he looked at Hakyeon again.

          “I told you not to touch me.”

          “Please.” Hakyeon flinched at how desperate he sounded, but he needed to know. How could a stranger be so hostile toward him, and why did it feel so utterly wrong?

          Taekwoon’s eyes were narrow behind his glasses. “I don’t owe you anything. Now let go of me.” He jerked his wrist back and Hakyeon tightened his grip.

          “I dreamt of you.” The words had tumbled from Hakyeon’s lips without his consent and he regretted it instantly. He flushed and released Taekwoon’s wrist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--” His heart hammered in his chest. If Taekwoon didn’t think him strange before, he certainly would now. But the dream was so compelling, so real, and his heart ached for this person he had only just met.

          Taekwoon blinked, and he was silent for a long moment. “I… I dreamt of you, too.” The words were edged with uncertainty. “And I think it’s best if you stay away from me.” The elevator doors slid open and he stepped inside. His eyes were bright with something Hakyeon couldn’t place, the doors shuddered closed, and he was gone.

 

 

 crossposted on [aff ](https://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1288258/4)|[tumblr](http://excelgesis.tumblr.com/post/166816943658/free-of-any-eden-chapter-4-wc-6078-pairing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. ^^  
> Feel free to chat with me on tumblr @excelgesis


	5. Of Some Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...how you remind me  
> of some spring, the waters as cool and clear  
> (late rain clings to your leaves, shaken by light wind),  
> which is where you occur in grassy moonlight..."  
> -Reginald Shepherd, "You, Therefore"

           Hakyeon could feel his heart somewhere near the floor. He blinked back tears for the thousandth time as an emptiness curled in his stomach.

          “Dude, what the hell?” Wonshik jogged down the hallway toward him. “Did he seriously fucking leave?”

          “I don’t understand,” Hakyeon whispered. “I don’t know what’s going on…”

          Wonshik let out a sigh. “That was by far the rudest thing I’ve ever seen him do. And that’s saying something because he’s _really_ not the nicest person around.” He raised a brow. “Do you guys have some bad history together or something?”

          Hakyeon swallowed and shook his head. There was that murky something, teasing the edges of his mind, making him feel like a part of him was missing.

          “Well he seriously owes you an apology.” Wonshik reached out to grab Hakyeon’s elbow. “Come on, we’ll head to the coffee shop together.”

          “I don’t think he wants to see me.” His voice broke halfway through.

          “I’m sure he’s just moody because he had to get out of bed. You can never tell with Taekwoon, honestly. Now come on, you’ll get sick if you stand out here barefoot like this. I’ll take you to our favorite coffee place.”

****

          The coffee shop was cozy and warm, and although Hakyeon wrinkled his nose at the bitter smell, he could understand why people would like to come here. A metal staircase spiraled up toward a loft lined with bookshelves, and the round tables were home to potted plants and mismatched chairs.

          Wonshik ordered a latte – hadn’t he just had coffee at home? – and guided Hakyeon through the sparsely populated room to the back corner.

          Taekwoon sat in an oversized armchair with a laptop computer perched across his knees. His glasses had slid down to the tip of his nose and his hair looked as if he had run his hands through it in frustration. And again Hakyeon felt familiarity warm and comfortable in his chest. He could see Taekwoon in a long crimson jacket, reaching toward him and pressing a folding fan into his hand. He could hear Taekwoon’s soft voice through leaves and branches, composing a melody with the wind –

          “Kim Wonshik.” Taekwoon’s voice carried none of the gentleness Hakyeon had dreamt of. It was all hard edges, like ice creeping across water toward the shore. “What are you doing?”

          Wonshik placed the steaming latte on the table beside Taekwoon’s chair. “Drink this and stop being such an asshole, will you?”

          “I told you I don’t want to see him.” Taekwoon’s eyes narrowed in Hakyeon’s direction. Hakyeon did his best to stand his ground.

          “He didn’t do anything to you, I’m sure. Don’t you think you’re being a little rude?” Wonshik flopped down into the nearest chair, leaving Hakyeon standing alone with his hands clasped in front of him.

          “You don’t know anything about this, Wonshik. Stay out of it.”

          Wonshik rolled his eyes. “Look, he’s a friend of mine now and I don’t want you being such an ass. You’re going to scare him away.”

          “Why is it that everyone wants to be friends with him all of a sudden?” Taekwoon’s tone remained icy, and Hakyeon was sure he could feel it in his veins.

          “Why do you insist on being such a dick to him all of a sudden?” Wonshik countered.

          “I told you to stay out of it.”

          Hakyeon could feel the mounting tension in the air, and he found it frustrating that they spoke of him as if he weren’t there. He cleared his throat loudly. They both turned their gazes to him, and he locked eyes with Taekwoon.

          Taekwoon’s eyes darkened. “What?”

          Hakyeon refused to look away. “Please don’t talk about me like I’m not here.” He swallowed and practiced the next words in his head several times before he said them. “I think I deserve an explanation.”

          Taekwoon scoffed and turned his gaze to his laptop. “If anyone deserves an explanation, it’s me.”

          And all at once the coffee shop dissolved, washed away like silt in water and Hakyeon was in another place, another time, another life. There was dirt under his shoes and low stone walls were sharp against the searing blue of the sky. He felt a hand on his shoulder and his heart leapt into his throat.

          “I think an explanation is necessary.” The voice was stern, but Hakyeon was taken aback by the softness of it. He turned in surprise, his gaze locking with Taekwoon’s. He was dressed in a deep sunset purple broken by a golden pattern.

          Hakyeon lowered his gaze. “An explanation?”

          “You had no right interrupting our practice. It isn’t your place.” His voice grew fuzzy and distant, there was a roaring in Hakyeon’s ears like wind and water—

          And the coffee shop rushed back into focus. Taekwoon was staring at him, his knuckles white where he gripped the arms of the chair. The room tilted at a dizzying angle and Hakyeon stumbled forward, reaching out blindly to steady himself.

          Taekwoon’s hands were on his shoulders, warm and comforting, and Hakyeon could feel his breath ghosting along his ear, followed by a soft “Hakyeon, I missed you so much.” The words were sugar sweet and Hakyeon leaned in, only to feel Taekwoon’s hands shoving him roughly back. He stumbled and fell, landing hard on the wooden floor.

          “What the hell?” Taekwoon gasped.

          “Jesus Christ!” Wonshik scrambled forward to help Hakyeon to his feet. “Taekwoon, what the fuck?”

          “What was that?” Taekwoon’s voice shook. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

          Hakyeon clung to Wonshik’s arm and tried to steady himself. His head spun. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t know what’s happening--”

          “I told you to stay away from me.” The words trembled and Taekwoon’s eyes were wide behind his glasses. “I shouldn’t be feeling this, this isn’t normal--”

          Hakyeon swallowed. “I feel it, too.”

          Wonshik looked between them frantically. “What?”

          “Is everything okay over here?” A barista in a black apron hovered near Taekwoon’s armchair. His eyes were wide underneath a fringe of light hair.

          “We’re fine, Kyung,” Taekwoon said darkly. “We were just leaving.”

          “Says who?” Wonshik squawked.

          Hakyeon stumbled as Taekwoon grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the front door. All protests died on his lips, and he couldn’t deny the shiver that slid down his spine at his touch. It was as if he had craved it for a hundred years, an addict deprived of his high.

          Taekwoon shouldered the door open and rounded on him, his fingers pressing hard against Hakyeon’s forearm. “Explain yourself.”

          The words hit like acid. “I can’t,” Hakyeon breathed. “I honestly can’t.” Taekwoon was close – _so close_ – and he resisted the sudden urge to bury his fingers in the fabric of his jacket, to pull him closer and closer—

          But how could he feel that for someone he barely knew?

          His mind rebelled, pushing back, insisting that he _knew_ Taekwoon from some other time, some other place. His presence felt so familiar and safe and he wanted to revel in it. He wanted to forget about this new life with all of its complications and intricacies and bask in Taekwoon’s familiarity like it was the summer sun.

          “I know you.” Taekwoon’s grip tightened. “Why do I feel like I know you? How do I know your name?”

          Hakyeon shook his head. “You feel familiar to me, too. I-I can’t explain it.”

          “Is this some kind of sick joke? Did my father put you up to this?” He shook Hakyeon’s arm, but his grip had slackened into something surprisingly gentle. His voice was laced with desperation.

          “I’m as lost as you are.” Hakyeon reached up to pull Taekwoon’s fingers away. Taekwoon’s grip loosened easily. “I can’t explain this any more than you can.” The emptiness that had curled in the pit of his stomach was gone, replaced by a warm comfort. Something felt so _right_ about being with Taekwoon. But how was such a thing possible?

          “I told you that I wanted you to stay away from me.” Taekwoon’s voice was weak, and the anger that had painted his words was a diluted version of itself. “But whenever you’re gone I…”

          Hakyeon waited for him to finish with bated breath.

          “I miss you,” Taekwoon whispered. “How is that possible?”

          “What the hell are you doing out here?” Wonshik stumbled onto the sidewalk and shot Taekwoon a sharp glare. “Are you still being an asshole?”

          Taekwoon took a step back from Hakyeon. His eyes were glassy, as if he were stuck in a trance. He shook his head and glanced at Wonshik, who stood near the coffee shop door with his arms folded across his chest.

          “I-I need to get to work,” Taekwoon stuttered. He turned and headed down the sidewalk, pushing his way through the crowd until his retreating back was swallowed in an undulating sea of dark coats.

          Hakyeon let out a breath. The emptiness had returned, clawing its way into his chest like a trapped animal.

          “What the holy hell is going on between you two?” Wonshik’s voice was an octave higher than usual.

          Hakyeon slumped against the wall, his legs threatening to give out. “I have no idea.”

****

          “So tell me again.” Jaehwan paced back and forth, and Hakyeon thought idly that he would wear a hole through the hardwood floor.

          “I know him,” Hakyeon said softly. He poked at the food Jaehwan had brought, his appetite waning as the seconds ticked by. “He seems so familiar to me.”

          “You must have met before. What’s so special about that?”

          Hakyeon sighed, and the sound seemed to echo in the empty bookstore. Wonshik had dropped him off on his way to work, and Jaehwan had instantly jumped on the chance to interrogate him after Wonshik’s quiet “Kid’s had a rough morning already.”

          “It’s more than that. I feel almost… empty without him.” Hakyeon frowned at how vulnerable the words sounded.

          “Oh no.” Jaehwan shook his head and pointed a finger at him. “No no no, you absolutely cannot fall for Taekwoon. Trust me. It’ll just end badly for you.”

          Hakyeon flushed at the suggestion. “That’s not what I’m implying.”

          “Sure as hell sounds like it to me,” Jaehwan said. “I mean, sure, he’s tall and dark and handsome and everything, but the boy has serious commitment issues, man. He’s too busy with work to focus on a relationship.”

          “I’m not suggesting a relationship!” The words came out loud and harsh, and Jaehwan visibly jumped at the outburst. Hakyeon couldn’t begin to explain why ire roiled in his veins, but his head was spinning and he wanted _answers_. Real and tangible answers that could set his pounding heart at ease.

          Jaehwan held up both hands, palms facing outward. “Fine, fine. Whatever you say.”

          “I’m just so confused about all this.” Hakyeon tried to keep the frustration from showing in his voice. “Is this normal? Have you ever felt this way?”

          “What, like I miss someone? Of course I have. Everyone has.”

          “But that’s just it.” Hakyeon let out a breath. “How can I miss someone I barely know?”

          “Maybe you just click. Maybe you knew each other in a past life, hell, I don’t know. It could be anything.”

          The door to the bookstore opened, and Hakyeon didn’t bother turning to see who had walked in.

          “Speak of the devil,” Jaehwan said under his breath.

          “Jaehwan, I need to talk--”

          Hakyeon jumped at the sound of Taekwoon’s voice. He turned in his seat and their gazes locked. Something tugged at the corners of his mind, stronger than before, and a rising tide of affection and familiarity bubbled up in his chest.

          Taekwoon sighed. “I should have known you would be here.”

          “I can leave,” Hakyeon whispered.

          “Won’t do any good.” Taekwoon ran a hand through his hair. “You’re everywhere. Even when I’m not around you, you’re still _there_.”

          Jaehwan’s eyebrows rose. “What?”

          Taekwoon crossed his arms and seemed to weigh his words carefully before speaking. “Come with me.”

          Jaehwan pointed at himself questioningly.

          Taekwoon shook his head. “Not you.” He nodded toward Hakyeon. “You.”

          Hakyeon got to his feet and took a shaky step forward. “W-where are we going?”

          “My place,” Taekwoon muttered. “I think we need to talk.”

 

crossposted on [aff ](http://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1288258/5/)| [tumblr ](http://excelgesis.tumblr.com/post/167249167783/free-of-any-eden-chapter-5-wc-2048-pairing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with the story so far. ^^  
> It really means a lot!


	6. Magnify

          Hakyeon balked at the thought of getting into Taekwoon’s car. He stood by the door with his fingers hovering over the handle. The machine hummed as if it were alive, and unease curled in the pit of his stomach. In his mind’s eye he saw Hongbin and Sanghyuk, their eyes wide with envy. He could almost hear their reverent voices urging him to open the door. How unsafe could it really be?

          “I’m driving away in three seconds,” Taekwoon called through the open window.

          Hakyeon inhaled and opened the door.

          It was worse than he had anticipated. He kept a white-knuckled grip on the seat as Taekwoon weaved through traffic, muttering under his breath and tapping the brakes only enough to avoid collisions.

          “Does everyone drive like this?” Hakyeon choked out.

          Taekwoon didn’t respond.

          Hakyeon squeezed his eyes shut and only opened them when the car skidded to a halt.

          Taekwoon stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him. Hakyeon scrambled to keep up, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. He could feel anxiety rooted in his chest, but it was softened by that inexplicable affection he felt for Taekwoon. He tried to swallow it back, tried to push it down, but it refused to fade.

          Taekwoon didn’t look back to see if Hakyeon was following. He shoved open the lobby doors and made for the elevator.

          Hakyeon paused. “Is it okay if I take the stairs?”

          Taekwoon waved a hand. “I don’t care. It’s the 12th floor.”

          Taekwoon was outside the elevator when Hakyeon made it to the top, leaning against the wall with his arms folded tight across his chest. A sigh passed through his lips. “Took you long enough. Are you afraid of elevators?”

          Hakyeon merely nodded and tried to catch his breath.

          “It’s this one.” Taekwoon nodded to the door directly across from him, striding toward it and punching a code into a pad of numbers. He pushed the door open after a series of loud clicks and beeps, and Hakyeon could only stare.

          “Come in before I change my mind.”

          Hakyeon rushed to the door before it could close and stepped inside. His breath caught, and he tried to recall what he had expected from Taekwoon’s apartment. Small and dark, perhaps, to match Taekwoon’s stormy demeanor. But the ceilings were high and airy, the furniture sleek and done up in light grays and blues. The floors were a pale hardwood covered in plush rugs. It was magnificent in a way he never could have imagined.

          “Sit down.” Taekwoon kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of the couch. “I’d like to get this over with.”

          Hakyeon swallowed and tried to calm the incessant buzzing in his veins. He perched on the edge of a cushion, as far from Taekwoon as the space would allow. The warm familiarity in his chest was at war with his nerves, and he couldn’t tell which was winning.

          “I’m waiting for you to explain.” Taekwoon’s voice was quiet.

          “I can’t.” Hakyeon took a shaky breath. “I can’t explain.”

          “Did we meet when we were younger?”

          Impossible, Hakyeon knew, but the truth was even more so.

          “We must have,” Taekwoon continued. “Maybe elementary or middle school. Were you on the soccer team?”

          Hakyeon shook his head.

          “Maybe we were in one of the same clubs then, or the same class. That could explain it.” He nodded and Hakyeon didn’t know what to say. He was sure that this potent familiarity ran much deeper than that, a time-tested bond that he couldn’t shy away from, but how would he explain such a thing to Taekwoon? How could he explain that which he himself didn’t understand?

          “We must have been close back then.” It sounded as if Taekwoon were thinking aloud, his tone soft and pensive. “I feel like I’ve known you my entire life.”

          Something swelled in Hakyeon’s chest, a rising tide of affection that brought tears to his eyes, and he pushed it back as far as it would go. “We must have been,” he whispered.

          “But I can’t remember what happened,” Taekwoon murmured. “If we were so close, why did we…” He let the sentence trail off into silence.

          The feeling in Hakyeon’s chest grew heavy, morphing into a sadness so strong it was almost physical pain. He gasped and tears sprung to his eyes again. He felt as if he were drowning, struggling against an invisible current as he spiraled down and down into an inky despair.

          “Are you… crying?” Taekwoon’s words were stilted with surprise.

          Hakyeon coughed and reached up to feel that the tears had spilled and were dripping off his chin and onto the fabric of his jeans. He wiped at them frantically. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand why--”

          Taekwoon moved closer, and his eyebrows were low over storm-dark eyes. He reached out a hand and his fingers trembled, as if uncertain of their own movements. Hakyeon thought his expression was as unfathomable as the ocean’s depths, and he ached to understand.

          A sharp ringing cut through the air and Taekwoon dropped his hand. The ringing continued, loud and harsh, and Taekwoon fumbled in his pockets for his cellphone. He cursed under his breath and tapped at the screen.

          “I have a meeting. I completely forgot.”

          Hakyeon scrubbed at his eyes with the back of a hand. What was Taekwoon to him, what had Taekwoon ever been to him, that he felt such an intense pain?

          “You can stay here until you’ve… calmed down.” Taekwoon’s tone was uneasy. His eyes were still unreadable and Hakyeon almost begged him to stay. He could feel a dark emptiness waiting to strike, and he wanted to cling to Taekwoon, to hold him until the pain passed. The desire frightened him with its intensity.

          “You can leave whenever,” Taekwoon said softly. “The door will automatically lock behind you. And…” He took a breath. “And Hakyeon?”

          Hakyeon shivered at the way his name sounded on Taekwoon’s lips. “Yes?”

          “I’m sorry.” Taekwoon turned his gaze to the floor. “For leaving you like this.” He pushed himself to his feet and tugged on his shoes without another word. He grabbed a briefcase that looked as if it had been thrown haphazardly near the door. Their gazes locked over the back of the couch, and Hakyeon felt his heart in his throat.

          “Goodbye,” Taekwoon said quietly. His eyes never left Hakyeon’s face.

          The word was terribly final, but Hakyeon didn’t ask him to stay.

****

          It wasn’t long before the emptiness crawled in, and it seemed magnified by the apartment’s high ceilings and crushing quiet. The thought of staying made his stomach turn, and he found himself longing for Jaehwan’s bookstore and the constant noise of his and Junghwan’s bickering. It was all a welcome distraction from thoughts of Taekwoon and the sensation that something had been stolen from him.

          He pulled on his sandals at the door and headed out, flinching at the loud clicks and beeps that signaled the door’s automatic locking. It wasn’t until he had pushed open the lobby doors that he realized he had no idea where to go. His eyes had been closed during the majority of the car ride, so he wasn’t even sure if the bookstore was to his right or his left. He eventually settled on left and headed down the sidewalk with his hands buried deep in his pockets.

          An hour passed, or maybe two or even three, and the sun dipped below the horizon. Bright lights in garish reds and oranges flashed before his eyes. The streets grew crowded and people rushed by, bumping and jostling him as he searched in vain for the bookstore. A bitter wind swept in, raising goosebumps along his bare arms.

          He turned down another side street as anxiety wrapped around his neck. It looked the same as the last, with low slung power lines and staircases that led down to bars and karaoke rooms. Large groups of people ate and laughed, perched on plastic chairs outside chicken restaurants. A bitter smell permeated every street and green bottles lay discarded on curbs and tables. Hakyeon felt like he was suffocating.

          He turned back the way he had come, deciding that even Taekwoon’s empty apartment was better than the pressing crowds. Loud music pulsed through the air, accompanied by shouts and slurred jeers.

          Another person bumped hard against his arm. Hakyeon glanced to the side, an apology already dying on his lips, and his eyes met Taekwoon’s.

          “Hakyeon?” Taekwoon’s eyes were unfocused.

          The relief that coursed through Hakyeon’s veins was almost overwhelming. “Taekwoon.”

          Taekwoon ran a hand through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut. “Why are you everywhere?” His words were slurred slightly, and Hakyeon frowned. The bitter smell of the streets he had passed seemed to cling to Taekwoon’s clothes.

          “I got lost trying to find the bookstore.”

          Taekwoon scoffed and stumbled forward. “Jaehwan’s bookstore? That isn’t even close to here. You can’t walk that far.”

          He took a few more steps, and Hakyeon noticed his shuffling gait. His necktie was pulled loose and his suit jacket was thrown over one shoulder. He looked disheveled and a bit confused. What was wrong with him?

          “Are you okay?” Hakyeon reached out to rest a hand on his arm.

          “Fine,” he mumbled. “Just drank a little too much, is all.”

          “Drank?” Hakyeon’s mind flew back to the Waiting Place, to the sloppy and drunken confessions of love he had witnessed from time to time. Sanghyuk and Hongbin had swapped drinking stories (Sanghyuk more so than Hongbin, though Hakyeon hadn’t been surprised at that) and Hakyeon had always been curious. But this didn’t seem amusing in the least, and the sharp smell that lined the streets didn’t seem at all pleasant.

          “Can you get home like this?”

          Taekwoon’s laugh was humorless. “This isn’t the first time I’ve gone home drunk, Hakyeon.”

          Hakyeon kept a hand on his arm and tried to ignore the way he felt whenever Taekwoon said his name.

          They reached the apartment after a lifetime of pushing and stumbling. Taekwoon shook off Hakyeon’s hand and made his way to the elevator doors. “Taking the stairs again?”

          Hakyeon paused. “Am I coming upstairs?”

          “Well you came this far already.” Taekwoon shrugged and the doors slid closed behind him.

          They met at the top of the staircase and were inside the apartment before Hakyeon had given it much thought. It felt right and natural to be close to Taekwoon, which scared him and intrigued him all at once.

          Taekwoon kicked off his shoes and headed for the kitchen. Hakyeon stood near the door with his hands clasped in front of him, unsure of what to do.

          Taekwoon pulled a water bottle from the refrigerator and downed its contents instantly. He held another out toward Hakyeon with his eyebrows raised. It was then that Hakyeon realized he had barely eaten or drank anything all day, and he stepped hesitantly toward the kitchen and took the bottle from his hand.

          Taekwoon steadied himself on the edge of the counter, his eyes trained on Hakyeon. Hakyeon flushed under the scrutiny and turned his gaze to the ground.

          “Why were you at Wonshik’s place this morning?” The question was sudden.

          Hakyeon glanced up to see Taekwoon still staring at him with those unreadable eyes. “I didn’t have a place to stay and Jaehwan’s roommate said no.”

          Taekwoon was silent for a few moments. “Why don’t you have anywhere to stay?”

          “It’s…” Hakyeon bit his lip and knew the truth was far too outlandish. “It’s complicated.”

          Taekwoon said nothing, opting instead to stare at Hakyeon as if he were a puzzle that he couldn’t quite figure out.

          Hakyeon felt his face heat up, and he cleared his throat self-consciously.

          “Are you staying at Wonshik’s again tonight?”

          “I don’t know how to get there from here,” Hakyeon said softly. He felt terrible, imposing on each and every person he met as if they were obligated to take care of him, but he wasn’t sure what else to do. He wrung his hands and kept his gaze on his feet.

          “Well I can’t exactly drive you back.” Taekwoon’s tone was stilted with unease.

          Hakyeon shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting you to, it’s fine. I can find somewhere to stay--”

          “You can stay here.” The words were soft, and Taekwoon looked as if he hadn’t meant to say them. He blinked and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He cleared his throat. “Just for tonight. There’s a second bedroom on the other side of the entryway.” He threw the empty water bottle in the trash can and turned away, ducking his head to avoid Hakyeon’s stare.

          Hakyeon felt a warmth in his chest, that lingering affection he couldn’t shake, and he wanted to hold Taekwoon until he could think of nothing else. His jittery nerves seemed to calm instantly and he wished he could explain why. What was Taekwoon to him? How could one person spark such an intense feeling of comfort?

          “Thank you,” Hakyeon whispered.

          Taekwoon waved a dismissive hand, his back still turned to Hakyeon as he made his way to his room. He shut the door behind him without a word.

          Hakyeon stood at the kitchen counter, water bottle in hand, for what felt like a lifetime. When he finally decided to head for the guest bedroom, his eyes were heavy with fatigue. He pushed the door open and collapsed into bed, pulling the comforter up to his chin. He half-expected to hear the scholar’s voice echo off the room’s high ceilings, but there was nothing but silence as he faded into sleep.

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kudos, comments, and continued support ;;;  
> it means the world


	7. Dressed in Moonlight

          Sunlight filtering in through the blinds woke him the next morning. It had been a blissfully dreamless sleep, and he padded into the living room with a smile on his lips and warmth in his chest.

          He could see Taekwoon in the kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee. Taekwoon turned and jumped visibly when he saw Hakyeon standing near the couch. A sigh passed through his lips and he ran a hand through his hair.

          “I thought I was still dreaming for a second,” he muttered.

          “Did you dream of me?” The question left him before he had thought properly, and he instantly regretted it when Taekwoon threw him a dark scowl.  

          Frown still in place, Taekwoon pressed a hand to his forehead and leaned heavily against the counter. “I’ve got cereal for breakfast. Hopefully that’s good enough.” He had neatly dodged Hakyeon’s question, but his dark expression was answer enough.

          Hakyeon’s stomach twisted with worry and he moved to stand next to him. He flinched at Hakyeon’s proximity and leaned back, shaking his head.

          “Are you okay?” Hakyeon asked softly.

          “Fine. Haven’t you seen someone with a hangover before?”

          Hakyeon didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t, so he nodded and placed a hand on Taekwoon’s arm. “I think you should sit down.”

          Taekwoon frowned, pulled his arm away, and moved to sink down into a kitchen chair. He gestured toward a bowl on the table across from him. “Breakfast is there if you want it.”

          And there was that affection again, sunshine-bright in his chest. Taekwoon had prepared breakfast for him? He sat down and ate, feeling Taekwoon’s gaze on him all the while. The feeling of comfort was becoming hard to ignore, and he wondered idly how Taekwoon would react if he mentioned it. He noticed then that Taekwoon had nothing but a coffee cup in front of him, and he looked up at him curiously. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”

          Taekwoon glanced pointedly at his coffee. “I have this.”

          “Coffee isn’t food.”

          Taekwoon shrugged.

          Hakyeon blinked and his brow furrowed. He didn’t know much about how people in this lifetime were supposed to live, but downing alcohol and then spending the next morning with only coffee seemed terribly unhealthy.

          “Don’t look at me like that.” Taekwoon pressed his fingers against his temples and squeezed his eyes shut.

          “I really think you should eat something.”

          “And I really think you should shut your mouth,” Taekwoon countered. He brought the cup to his lips and drained its contents, as if doing so would convince Hakyeon to stop talking.

          Hakyeon frowned and turned his gaze back to his empty bowl.

          The morning continued like that, with Taekwoon getting ready, sluggishly stumbling around the house and throwing out harsh comments with a quicksilver tongue. Hakyeon sat on the couch and decided to keep any and all opinions to himself for the time being.

          The ride back to Jaehwan’s bookstore was quiet, save for the expletives Taekwoon muttered under his breath as he wove in and out of traffic. Hakyeon clung to the seat and kept his eyes tightly closed.

          “Good God,” Jaehwan called out as Taekwoon pushed open the bookstore’s door. He all but ran to them, grabbing Hakyeon by the arms and looking him over from head to foot. “I was expecting you to come back last night after you two were done talking.”

          Taekwoon glowered. “I wasn’t going to let him walk that far in the dark.”

          “And you couldn’t drive him?”

          Taekwoon huffed and folded his arms.

          Jaehwan’s eyebrows rose. “Nevermind, I know a hangover when I see one.”

          “I’m leaving,” Taekwoon muttered darkly. The door closed silently behind him.

          “So you spent the night with the ever-elusive Jung Taekwoon.” Jaehwan’s tone was laced with curiosity.

          Hakyeon blinked. “I had to. I didn’t know the way back.”

          “So?” Jaehwan drew out the syllable as far as it could go.

          “So what?”

          “Did anything happen?”

          Hakyeon’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

          “I _mean_ …” Jaehwan leaned forward. “There’s obviously something strange between the two of you. So did anything happen?”

          “We talked,” Hakyeon said matter-of-factly. “He uh… seems to think we met in elementary school or something years ago.”

          Jaehwan hummed but didn’t look at all convinced. He gestured over his shoulder. “Well, come inside at least. We can talk about this some more if you want.”

          Hakyeon stepped down into the bookstore and followed Jaehwan to the counter.

          “Hey!” Junghwan’s voice echoed in the empty room. Hakyeon turned to see him pushing a large cart laden with books. “If he’s going to spend all his time here, at least have him do something useful! I’m not running a charity.”

          “Don’t talk about him as if he’s not here!” Jaehwan yelled back. He turned to Hakyeon and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t listen to him, I really don’t mind you spending time here.”

          Hakyeon shook his head as guilt rose in his chest. “No, no, he’s right. I should be doing something to help you out. What do you need?”

          Jaehwan bit his lip. “I’d really hate to ask you to do anything…”

          “Really, I insist.”

          He sighed. “Well, we’re a tad understaffed and have a million things to shelve. I could teach you how to do it, if you really don’t mind…”

          Hakyeon nodded, eager to repay his kindness in any way he could.

          Jaehwan grabbed a device from the counter and balanced it in his palm, pressing the keys and eliciting harsh beeps and dings. He held it out toward Hakyeon. “This is a PDT. Don’t ask me what PDT stands for because I don’t remember. It’s something in English I think.”

          Hakyeon raised a brow. “What do I do with it?”

          Jaehwan picked up a stray book and turned it to the back cover. The device scanned a small box printed near the bottom and beeped loudly. “You scan the barcode like this, and then the PDT tells you where the book is supposed to go. Once you get to the correct shelf, you just alphabetize by surname. It’s pretty easy, really.”

          Hakyeon was eager to help, but his chest felt heavy with worry. “I’ve never done it before; I’m not sure how well I’ll be able to do…”

          Jaehwan grinned sunshine-bright. “You’ll do fine, don’t worry. Here, I’ll show you.” He turned the device toward him and pointed at the screen. “See, here it says this book goes in Fantasy, so we’ll take it over to Fantasy” – he strode to the other side of the store and Hakyeon jogged to keep up – “and then we just alphabetize by surname.” He scanned the spines with an index finger as he hummed the alphabet under his breath. “Aha, right here. See? We’ve got a couple other copies already.” He shelved the book neatly and clapped his hands together. “Any questions?”

          Hakyeon glanced at the PDT and then to the stack of books teetering on the cart Junghwan had been pushing. “It seems simple enough,” he said.

          “That’s the spirit.” Jaehwan hit his shoulder lightly and grinned again. “Don’t hesitate to ask if you run into something that confuses you.”

          Hakyeon nodded, grabbed the PDT from Jaehwan’s outstretched hand, and went to work.

          It was a whirlwind at first as he tried to navigate the bookstore’s layout. Fantasy on one side, biography on the other; Japanese manga up one staircase and cookbooks tucked in a secluded alcove. But the store became quickly familiar, and he had shelved the entirety of Junghwan’s cart in less than an hour. Junghwan brought him another almost instantly.

          This one was trickier, and Hakyeon found himself scaling tall ladders and rickety staircases to put the books in their proper places. He was sure to take a few seconds to marvel at each and every one, running his fingers over their glossy covers and reading synopses here and there. And something was there again, tugging at the edges of his mind with a persistence that intrigued and terrified him all at once. He had managed to ignore it for the better part of the day, but then his fingers found a book with a brilliant silver cover and the world seemed to tilt. He could make out the word “Astronomy” printed in dark blue, and he skimmed through the pages with hands that weren’t his own. Maps, charts, diagrams – his mind seemed to twist and pulse and the bookstore fell to pieces around him.

          “You know this.” The voice had a hard edge, but it wasn’t entirely unkind.

          Hakyeon was seated on the floor with his legs crossed underneath him. Charts and diagrams of all shapes and sizes were strewn before him, and a man with dark hair that turned gray near his temples was gesturing toward one diagram with a slim pointer stick. “Hakyeon, I need you to pay attention.”

          “I’m sorry, father,” Hakyeon said softly. He studied the diagram and recited the constellations as quickly as he could, and used his finger to track the paths of the sun and the moon.

          “Good. Tonight I’ll take you to the Daeganeudae observatory and you can put this knowledge into practice. Understood?”

          “Understood.”

          The bookstore swam back into focus and he could feel himself falling backward farther and farther until his head cracked hard against the wooden floor and stars danced before his eyes.

          “Oh my god.” Jaehwan’s voice, sounding small and far away.

          Hands were on him then, pulling him into a sitting position. He recognized Junghwan’s face and heard him make an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. “Jaehwan, you better pray that he doesn’t like file charges against us or something. We could get in big trouble for asking him to work without being officially on the clock.”

          “You’re such an asshole, Junghwan, at least make sure he’s okay first!”

          Junghwan’s hands were surprisingly gentle, but his voice was laced with annoyance when he asked, “Are you okay?”

          “I think I’m fine,” Hakyeon whispered. His entire head had begun to ache and he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.

          “Can you stand?”

          He managed to pull himself to his feet with Junghwan’s help, and Jaehwan immediately insisted he lay down on a nearby couch.

          “I’m fine, really,” Hakyeon said, but the room tilted at a dizzying angle and his stomach tried to turn itself inside-out. He didn’t complain when Jaehwan pushed him down onto the sofa and instead closed his eyes and focused on taking deep breaths.

          “Get a plastic bag and fill it with ice from the breakroom freezer,” Jaehwan ordered. Hakyeon heard Junghwan’s retreating footsteps and moments later felt the cold bite of ice pressing against the back of his head.

          “What if he has a concussion?”

          Jaehwan sighed. “I’ll take care of him for now. Go help the customers that just walked in.”

          Junghwan grumbled under his breath and walked away.

          “Can you open your eyes for me?” Jaehwan’s voice was soft.

          Hakyeon pulled back his heavy eyelids and focused his gaze on him.

          “How’s the pain on a scale of one to ten?”

          Hakyeon frowned. “Is ten supposed to be the worst?”

          “Yeah.”

          “Maybe a five or a six? Really, I’m fine--”

          Jaehwan held up a hand. “Let me look up the symptoms of a concussion. I think you’re not supposed to fall asleep or something.” He pulled his smartphone from his pocket and tapped at the screen. He then assaulted Hakyeon with a barrage of questions and pulled him from the couch to see if he could walk a straight line.

          “You seem to be okay. At least according to Naver, anyway,” Jaehwan said with a sigh. “I’d still feel better if you laid down and took it easy, though.”

          “I’ll stay right here.” The bookstore’s customers shot him strange glances as they walked past, but he was determined to assuage Jaehwan’s worries and cause as little trouble as possible. He shifted into a more comfortable position and let his eyes fall shut.

          The dream felt familiar now, like the warm embrace of an old friend. He wandered through moonlit trees, his hair long and heavy against his back. A gentle humming twisted through the forest like river water.

          And there was Taekwoon, dipping and twirling through the silver trees with a fan clasped in one hand. Hakyeon thought he was breathtaking like this, and he yearned to tell him so. He wondered idly how Taekwoon would react if he knew of the strong affection that settled in Hakyeon’s chest whenever he laid eyes on him. But there was a part of him, buried deep in the darkest corners of his mind, that knew it was wrong. What he felt for Taekwoon was unnatural, and the thought cut like broken glass.

          The forest melted then, the colors mixing together into a muddy puddle that coalesced into blackness. And he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, there was water in his lungs, surrounding him on all sides and pricking his skin with its icy touch. And he didn’t fight against it as it dragged him down and down and down--

          His eyes flew open then, and he let out a breath as he stared at the bookstore’s white ceiling. He could still feel the water on all sides, pulling him into an inky abyss. It had all been too real, too vivid, more like a memory than a dream. His head ached. He wanted answers so badly, but the scholar had been silent for what felt like a lifetime, and Hakyeon began to wonder if he had ever really been there at all.

          “Yeah, he’s setting me up with her.” Hakyeon recognized Taekwoon’s soft voice, the voice he would know anywhere. “We have a date tomorrow.”

          “You might end up really liking her.” Jaehwan’s voice, bright and chipper.

          He could hear Taekwoon exhale. “I don’t know.”

          Hakyeon moved to sit up and his head spun.

          Jaehwan jumped up from an armchair across from him and was at his side instantly, his hands hovering in the air between them as if unsure of what to do. “You’re up! How do you feel? Are you okay?”

          The dull ache in his head was a diluted version of what it had previously been. He rubbed at his eyes and looked up at Jaehwan. “It doesn’t hurt as much now.”

          “Good.” Jaehwan sighed and sat down next to him. “Taekwoon was really worried about you, though he’ll never admit it.”

          Taekwoon scowled. “I was not.”

          “See what I mean?” Jaehwan shook his head.

          Hakyeon glanced at Taekwoon, and his heart did funny things in his chest. “I thought you were at work.”

          “He’s on lunch,” Jaehwan chirped. “He even brought food for the rest of us.” He gestured toward the small table between them, where bowls of black bean noodles sat untouched.

          Hakyeon raised a brow. “Finally decided to have something besides coffee?”

          Taekwoon’s eyebrows lowered but he said nothing. He was staring at Hakyeon with that same unreadable expression from before, the expression that reminded Hakyeon of the ocean’s murky depths. He felt his face heat up at the scrutiny and looked away.

          Jaehwan clapped his hands together to break the silence. “Let’s eat.” He reached for a bowl of noodles and Hakyeon and Taekwoon did the same. Hakyeon thought it a bit strange that Jaehwan could sit down and eat while customers milled about the store with only Junghwan to help them, but he decided not to question it.

          “Oh yeah,” Jaehwan said between mouthfuls of noodles. “I had a question for you, Hakyeon.”

          Hakyeon blinked. “Yes?”

          “Do you want to work here?”

          The question was sudden, and Hakyeon nearly choked on his food. He set his bowl on the table and glanced at Jaehwan. “Excuse me?”

          “Do you want to work here?” Jaehwan repeated. “We could really use another hand, and you’re pretty good at shelving, to be honest.”

          “Shouldn’t you ask Junghwan first? I’m sure he’d be opposed to the idea…”

          Jaehwan waved a hand. “He’ll get over it. He can’t deny we need the help.”

          Hakyeon frowned and stared into his bowl of noodles as if it contained the proper response. He knew he needed a job and an income, but Jaehwan had done so much for him already. Hakyeon didn’t want to infringe on his kindness any longer, but he couldn’t deny that becoming a hardworking employee could allow him to pay Jaehwan back for everything he had done. He glanced up at Taekwoon, but he merely raised an eyebrow and continued eating.

          “I mean…” Hakyeon began slowly. “If you’re sure…”

          Jaehwan grinned. “Of course I’m sure.”

          “Then I’d love to.”

          “Yes!” Jaehwan shouted, reaching over to slap Hakyeon’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be great having you around. You start tomorrow.”

          Hakyeon nodded and felt the slightest of smiles tugging at his lips. He felt he had some sort of purpose, something to drive him and push him forward, and hope began to balloon in his chest for the first time.

          “It’s time for me to go,” Taekwoon said, dropping his chopsticks in his empty bowl unceremoniously and rising from his seat.

          Jaehwan hummed. “Are you coming back again after work?”

          Taekwoon let out a sigh and met Hakyeon’s gaze. They stayed like that for seconds that nearly stretched into minutes, and Hakyeon felt the strangest urge to beg him to stay. Without a word, Taekwoon turned and left the store.         

          “How rude.” Jaehwan frowned and poked at the noodles in his bowl. “He didn’t even answer my question.”

****

          Junghwan was – as expected – opposed to the idea.

          “You offered him a _job_?” His tone was incredulous, and he placed his hands on his hips as he stared at Jaehwan with raised eyebrows. Hakyeon returned to shelving books and tried to pretend like he wasn’t listening.

          “And he accepted. He starts tomorrow.”

          “No he does not.”

          Jaehwan heaved a sigh. “We need more help around here. You know we do.”

          “And I figured we would interview applicants like any other normal business would. And maybe, oh, I don’t know, run a background check? We still haven’t ruled out the serial murderer possibility.”

          “Good God, Junghwan, if you bring up the serial murderer thing _one more time--”_

They bickered like that back and forth, and Hakyeon tried to block out the majority of it. He focused on shelving and careful alphabetizing, though his head still ached and he feared another memory-like vision would assault him at any moment. He willed the scholar to appear so he could beg him for answers, but the air around him was silent and still.

          He had just finished shelving the last cart when Jaehwan came up behind him and nudged him with an elbow. “I finally got Junghwan to give in, so you still start tomorrow.”

          Hakyeon rearranged two books that were out of order and sighed. “Isn’t he angry, though? I don’t want to be the source of any contention.”

          “Nah, don’t worry about it. I can get Junghwan to see things my way 99 percent of the time, you know.”

          “What about the other one percent?”

          “Reserved for rare occasions. Like when he chooses what we’ll eat for dinner.”

          Hakyeon shook his head. “Don’t you think you two have a rather odd relationship?”

          “Of course we do.” Jaehwan grinned. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

          The door opened then, and Jaehwan spun around to welcome the customer, but the greeting morphed instantly into a chipper “Oh, hey, Taekwoon!”

          Hakyeon wasn’t surprised at the way his chest constricted at the name. It was all becoming strikingly familiar, and a distant part of his mind warned him that something was wholly unnatural about that.

          “Why is he up?” The question had fallen from Taekwoon’s lips before the door had even finished closing behind him. His eyes landed on Hakyeon.

          “He said he felt better,” Jaehwan said with a small shrug.

          “He tried to make me stay on the couch, but I really feel fine.” The ache in Hakyeon’s head had dwindled over the past several hours, and lying on the couch while customers milled about the store had made him feel self-conscious. Jaehwan had fought back at first, but had finally given in after Hakyeon had assured him a dozen times that he felt fine.

          Taekwoon scowled and muttered something under his breath that Hakyeon couldn’t catch.

          Jaehwan glanced at Hakyeon. “And you think Junghwan and I are the ones with the odd relationship.” He shook his head and wheeled the empty cart toward the back of the store.

          Hakyeon frowned at his retreating back before shifting his gaze to Taekwoon, who merely sighed and sank into the nearest armchair.

          “Where are you staying tonight?”

          Hakyeon blinked. He hadn’t taken the time to think about it, and he suddenly felt foolish and guilty. “Um…”

          Taekwoon pursed his lips and pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll call Wonshik.”

          The words pricked at Hakyeon like needles. He should have known that Taekwoon wouldn’t want to deal with him for another night. The realization left his chest feeling hollower than ever. He sat on the edge of a couch cushion and kept his gaze on his feet.

          “Yeah?” Hakyeon could hear Wonshik’s shout burst through Taekwoon’s phone even though they were separated by at least five feet.

          Taekwoon closed his eyes and pulled the phone away from his ear. “Where are you?”

          “Home!” The sound of loud, pulsing music accompanied his voice.

          “Why the hell is it so loud?”

          “Some dudes from the academy are over.”

          Taekwoon let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “So I take it Hakyeon can’t come over to spend the night?”

          There was a pause filled with static. “Well, I mean, he could, as long as he’s okay with the guys being over here.”

          “I know how your parties get, Wonshik.”

          “What’s that supposed to mean?”

          “Nevermind.” Taekwoon swiped his finger across his phone’s screen and ended the call before Wonshik could respond. “That’s out of the question.”

          “What’s wrong with him spending another night at your house?” Jaehwan called, sauntering over to them and dropping onto the couch next to Hakyeon.

          Taekwoon glared at him and said nothing.

          “What? Did it not go well or something? He’s obviously not a serial murderer.”

          “That’s not the point,” Taekwoon muttered.

          “What’s the point, then?” Jaehwan countered. “Aren’t you long-lost friends from school or something?”

          Taekwoon let out a soft sigh and pressed his palms against his eyes. “Why is it our responsibility to take care of him anyway? Doesn’t he have somewhere to live?”

          Hakyeon swallowed. “I-It’s complicated, I can’t really--”

          “Why does it matter?” Jaehwan huffed and crossed his arms. “Why can’t you just help someone in need without being rude about it?”

          “Because not everyone thinks like you, Jaehwan!” Taekwoon’s voice rose. “You don’t understand what I feel for him; you don’t understand any of this!”

          A profound silence blanketed the room then, heavy and thick, and Hakyeon felt his heart in his throat. What exactly did Taekwoon feel for him, and how strong was it that he reacted in such a way?

          Taekwoon’s expression was dark, and he pushed himself up from the armchair and headed for the door. He paused then, turned back, and locked eyes with Hakyeon. “Come with me.” The anger had drained from his voice, replaced by a dejected sort of acceptance that made guilt rise in Hakyeon’s chest.

          “It’s fine,” Hakyeon said softly. “I can find somewhere else.”

          Taekwoon pursed his lips and let his eyes close for the briefest of instants. “Come with me,” he repeated. “Please.”

          Jaehwan nudged him forward and Hakyeon followed Taekwoon out the door.

          They arrived at the apartment after a silent drive, and Taekwoon kicked off his shoes and headed toward the kitchen. Hakyeon pulled off his sandals and stood in the entryway, wringing his hands together and staring at his bare feet.

          “Take these.” Taekwoon was there in an instant, holding out a towel and a heap of clothing. He turned his gaze away from Hakyeon. “There’s a shower in the guest bathroom.”

          Hakyeon blinked and took the items from his hands. “Thank you.”

          Taekwoon said nothing and turned away.

          After several attempts and minutes of sheer frustration, Hakyeon figured out how the shower was supposed to work. The water was almost too hot, raising goosebumps along his skin as the droplets left stinging trails in their wake. It was wonderful, and he stayed until the water ran cold.

          The pants Taekwoon had given him were too long and the shirt was baggy, but the clothes were comfortable and the thought that Taekwoon had given them to him warmed him from the inside out.

          He padded into the living room and Taekwoon looked him over from head to foot. “Better,” he said softly. He gestured toward two bowls on the coffee table. “I didn’t know if you were hungry so…”

          Hakyeon moved to sit on the couch next to him. He grabbed a bowl and the sharp tang of chili pepper assaulted his senses. He made a face.

          “Do you not like spicy food?”

          “I don’t know…”

          “How do you not know?” Taekwoon quirked an eyebrow.

          Hakyeon shook his head in response and ate the ramen without another word. Fire erupted on his tongue, but Taekwoon had prepared the food for him and he wasn’t about to complain.

          “How’s your head?”

          Hakyeon stopped eating and looked over at Taekwoon. His eyebrows were lowered and his eyes were dark, and Hakyeon wished he knew what was going on in his mind. “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

          Taekwoon hummed. “That’s good.”

          Hakyeon set his empty bowl on the table. “Jaehwan said you were worried…”

          “Jaehwan says a lot of things.”

          “I just…” Hakyeon bit his lip. “I don’t want to be a cause of concern.”

          Taekwoon scoffed. “You’ve been nothing but a hassle since the day I met you.”

          Guilt curled in Hakyeon’s stomach like poison. He opened his mouth to respond, to voice the thousand apologies in his head, but Taekwoon’s phone ringing sliced through the thick silence. Taekwoon grabbed it from the tabletop and brought it to his ear.

          “Dad? Why’re you calling so late?”

          Hakyeon watched as Taekwoon’s expression darkened like storm clouds rolling across the horizon. “Yes, I remember. Of course. Yeah, of course.” He dropped the phone back on the table and brought both hands to his face.

          Hakyeon leaned toward him. “Is something wrong?”

          Taekwoon heaved a sigh. “I have a date tomorrow.”

          “Isn’t that a good thing?” Hakyeon flipped through the thousands of dates he had witnessed, shuffling through them like a mental deck of cards. Most of them were good, full of jittery excitement and anticipation, so why did Taekwoon seem so upset?

          “My dad is arranging it. She’s the daughter of a prominent CEO. He seems to think that merging the two families will lead to a merger in business.”

          Hakyeon rested his head in one hand. “Are you worried you won’t like her?”

          There was a long pause. “Not exactly.”

          “Then why do you seem so unhappy?”

          Taekwoon huffed and pushed himself up from the couch. “I don’t want to talk about it with you. It’ll just make things worse.”

          Hakyeon blinked up at him. “Worse?”

          Taekwoon’s gaze met his then, and he stared at him wordlessly for a stretch of time that felt infinite. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Worse.” He headed toward his bedroom and shut the door softly behind him.

          Hakyeon stared at his empty bowl and tried to sort through his jumbled mess of thoughts. One train of thought collided with another and then another, forming a tangled web that he had no hope of understanding. The sweet release of sleep seemed like his best option, and he collapsed into bed with a sigh.

          He had just pulled the comforter up to his chin when he saw movement from the corner of his eye. He turned his head and could just make out an inky mass at the foot of the bed, foreboding and dark. He sat up and pressed his back against the headboard, biting back the scream that rose in his throat.

          The mass moved forward then, and the pale moonlight filtering in through the window caught on blonde hair and the curve of full lips.

          Hakyeon drew in a shaky breath and squinted. There was something familiar about that face, those eyes—

          It came to him then, and the absurdity of it had him tilting his head to one side. “Jaehwan? How did you get in here?”

          “Oh dear.” The voice was smooth as silk and velvet, and Hakyeon froze. It wasn’t Jaehwan’s voice. It was the voice of peach blossoms and blushing pink skies, the voice of punishment and countless years of suffering. The scholar’s voice.

          Jaehwan tutted, still in the scholar’s velvet voice. “Hakyeon, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already?”

 

 

crossposted on [aff ](https://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1288258/7)|[tumblr](http://excelgesis.tumblr.com/post/169718077703/free-of-any-eden-chapter-7-wc-4839-pairing)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update took so long!  
> Writer's block is truly my worst enemy.  
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and thank you so much for your continued support!


	8. Euphemism

          “I take it you can see me?” The scholar spread his hands – Jaehwan’s hands – and glanced down at himself. “The boy from the bookstore? Really?”

          “W-what the hell…” The words came out soft and small and Hakyeon swallowed. “What the hell is going on?”

          “In retrospect, I should have explained all this earlier.” The scholar sighed and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Hakyeon held up a hand and tried to glare with all the strength he could muster.

          “Don’t come any closer. I want answers. Now.”

          “I’m getting there. Be patient,” the scholar snapped. Ignoring Hakyeon completely, he sat at the foot of the bed and drummed his fingers against one of the bedposts. “It’s all simple enough, really. I’m sure you’re making it much more complicated in your head.”

          “Enlighten me, then.”

          The scholar sighed and leaned back on one of his hands. “I take the form of those you trust.”

          Hakyeon’s brain stalled then, drawing a complete blank. “Excuse me?”

          “Was I not clear enough the first time? I said I take the form of those you trust.”

          Hakyeon frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense--”

          “Doesn’t it?” The scholar raised a brow. “Think about it carefully. When you woke up in that place between life and death, alone and confused and desperate for answers… Would you have really listened to me if I didn’t look like a scholar, if I didn’t look like one of the most educated members of your society? And when I first dropped you here, you didn’t have anyone to put your faith in; that’s why I showed up as simply nothing.”

          Hakyeon shook his head. “Why would I put my trust in a scholar over my own family and friends? Surely I must have had those at some point?” It hurt that he couldn’t remember, like someone had reached into his chest and torn his heart to pieces. His mind flipped back to the vision from the bookstore, the man he called “father” who had given him lessons in astronomy. It lacked the hazy quality of a dream, standing out in crystal-clear focus like a memory.

          “Of course you had family and friends,” the scholar said, voice suddenly soft. “That doesn’t mean you trusted them.”

          That hurt the most of all, and Hakyeon stared at his hands clasped together atop the comforter. What had his past life been like that he couldn’t trust those closest to him? How unspeakably tragic must it have been that he felt driven to take his own life?

          “I’m sure you have questions.”

          “A few.” It came out as a whisper.

          The scholar inclined his head, and Hakyeon took that as an invitation to continue. He cleared his throat. “I’ve been…seeing things.”

          The scholar quirked a brow. “Seeing things?”

          Hakyeon let out a breath. “I don’t know if they’re visions or memories or what, but they’re so clear and vivid, and I can’t get them out of my head. Maybe I’m going crazy, I don’t know, but it keeps happening--”

          “You’re not crazy.” The scholar turned his gaze to the ceiling and let out a sigh. “Your memories are coming back, although this is much faster than usual…”

          Hakyeon felt as if something had been lodged in his throat. “So they are memories, then? Everything I’ve seen since I got here…”

          “They’re usually triggered by something in your environment, though in your case I imagine it’s more some _one_ than some _thing_.” He glanced at Hakyeon pointedly.

          It was all starting to rush in like the waters at high tide, and Hakyeon suddenly felt like he was drowning. If every vision he had had was really a glimpse into his past life, then… “Taekwoon,” he whispered. “Taekwoon was there. I-In my past life, Taekwoon was… we were…”

          The scholar tilted his head to one side. “You’ve finally caught on.”

          “It’s not possible,” Hakyeon breathed. His head spun and his breath felt heavy in his chest. “After all this time… How could we possibly…”

          “There are forces at work here far beyond our control, Hakyeon.” The scholar sat up straight then, his face suddenly hard and serious. “You can call it what you want: ‘fate’ or ‘destiny’, but I can assure you that it never forgets. I’ve seen it a thousand times over and it’s always the same. Time has an interesting way of looping back around to finish the things that it started.”

          Hakyeon shook his head. “What is there to finish? Maybe we knew each other, maybe we were even friends, but you said yourself that I didn’t trust anyone from my previous life. That includes Taekwoon, right? He did something to break my trust. That’s it. It’s over. There’s nothing left to finish.”

          “I think you know that’s not true.”

          Hakyeon folded his arms and sank back against the headboard. What he felt for Taekwoon was undeniably strong, but why? What had they been to each other in his past life for him to feel residual emotions in such a way, and what had Taekwoon done to break his faith so completely?

          “So what am I supposed to do?” It came out helpless and small. It was overwhelming to think that fate was at work in the shadows, pulling the strings of his life into tangles that he had no control over.

          “You’re supposed to _live_ , Hakyeon. You’ve been given a second chance for a reason. Don’t waste it.”

          “How can I live knowing that fate is in operation? How much of my life is it dictating? And why has it put me back with Taekwoon of all people? I must have known dozens of people in my previous life; what was so special about our connection that time wasn’t able to forget it?” He sounded desperate now, words tumbling over each other, but he needed answers to quell the fire burning in his mind.

          The scholar raised both eyebrows and returned to leaning back on his hands. “Well if I answered those questions, I’d spoil all the fun, wouldn’t I?”

          The fire turned instantly angry and Hakyeon let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t appreciate you keeping me in the dark.”

          There was a long pause. The scholar turned his gaze to Hakyeon, and there was something in it that was surprisingly sincere. “Taekwoon was someone very precious to you. I trust that in this life, he will become precious to you again.”

          Hakyeon opened his mouth to respond, though he wasn’t at all sure what to say, but the scholar was gone as quickly as he had appeared. Hakyeon stared at the empty space he had occupied and tried to calm his frazzled nerves. Just what had Taekwoon been to him, and what were they destined to become?

****

          A light knocking woke him the next morning, and he blinked up at the white ceiling as he dragged a hand across his eyes. His body felt as if it had been filled with lead, and every word from the night before came crashing back into his consciousness like waves on the shore. Taekwoon had been a part of his past life. Taekwoon had been there, been close to him, sparked that rising feeling of familiarity in his chest that he wanted to embrace and run away from all at the same time. He felt suddenly wary, like he had stumbled upon a secret he wasn’t supposed to know about.

_Time has an interesting way of looping back around to finish the things that it started._

He and Taekwoon had meant something to each other – but what?

          The knocking was growing more insistent, and Hakyeon pushed himself into a sitting position and let the comforter fall from his shoulders. “Yes?”

          The door opened a few inches and he saw Taekwoon peek through, his hair still mussed from sleep. “Are you awake?”

          Hakyeon felt his heart somewhere in his throat, and he swallowed a few times before answering. “Don’t I look awake?”

          Taekwoon huffed and pushed the door open wider. “It’s time to get up and get ready. Jaehwan will be expecting you at the bookstore soon.”

          The bookstore. Right. Hakyeon ran a hand through his hair and stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over Taekwoon’s too-long pants. He glanced back toward the door, but Taekwoon had already walked away.

          He shuffled into the living room and saw Taekwoon in the kitchen dutifully pouring himself a cup of coffee. He was starting to wonder if Taekwoon ever drank anything else.

          Taekwoon glanced up with raised eyebrows and gestured toward the cup. “Do you want some?”

          Hakyeon made a face and shook his head. “No thanks. I don’t like coffee much.”

          Taekwoon frowned. “Well you’ve never tried my coffee.”

          “Is your coffee somehow different from the rest of the world’s coffee?”

          Taekwoon let out a breath, and Hakyeon couldn’t tell if it was out of frustration or amusement. “I’m just good at customizing it to fit each person’s taste.”

          Hakyeon watched as Taekwoon artfully prepared his coffee, adding in milk and cream and sugar and stirring it at precise intervals. He seemed to take it very seriously, his eyebrows low over dark eyes, his hair shifting across his forehead as he leaned over the counter. Hakyeon stared, mesmerized, and the scholar’s words from the night before came trickling back again like acid in his veins.

          How could someone like Taekwoon, quiet, delicate, soft-spoken Taekwoon, break his trust so completely? What could have possibly transpired between them that was so poignant, so potent, that time felt the need to loop back around to finish whatever it had started? What could have been so heartbreaking that Hakyeon had felt the need to take his own life all those years ago, and what did it all mean?

          “You’re staring.” Taekwoon’s voice was soft.

          Hakyeon started and blinked, his thoughts cut off as effectively as scissors cut through string. “Sorry, I was just… lost in thought for a few seconds. Did you say something?”

          Taekwoon shook his head and gestured toward the cup of coffee on the counter. “Do you want to try some?”

          Hakyeon stared at the cup for several seconds before holding out a hand. “Sure.”

          Taekwoon raised an eyebrow and held the cup out toward him. “I don’t know how you take your coffee, so...” He shrugged.

          Hakyeon lifted a shoulder in a similar shrug and brought the cup to his lips. It was sweet, worlds different from the dark, bitter liquid he had tried at Wonshik’s apartment, and it lingered on his tongue long after he put the cup back down.

          “It’s sweeter than I expected,” he said in surprise.

          “Do you not like it?”

          Hakyeon held up a hand. “No, no, it’s good. It’s…better than the coffee I tried before.”

          Taekwoon smiled then, just a slight quirk at the corner of his lips. “I told you so.”

          “You must know a lot about coffee,” Hakyeon said, leaning forward until his elbows rested near the edge of the countertop. He had rarely seen Taekwoon drink anything else, and that intrigued him. What was so special about coffee that Taekwoon liked it so much? He was like an endless puzzle, and Hakyeon was trying his best to put the pieces together bit by bit.

          Taekwoon blinked and leaned backward a fraction of an inch. “I know a little.”

          “Do you ever drink anything else?”

          Taekwoon snorted but didn’t say anything.

          Hakyeon raised an eyebrow.

          “We need to leave soon,” Taekwoon said abruptly, shifting his gaze to the side. “Jaehwan will be expecting you.”

          Hakyeon stepped away from the counter and nearly tripped again over the hem of the pants Taekwoon had lent to him. He sighed. “About my clothes--”

          Taekwoon held up a hand, which Hakyeon took as the universal sign to wait, and disappeared into his bedroom. He returned a few moments later with an armful of clothing, which he held out to Hakyeon unceremoniously. “These clothes are a little small on me, so they might fit you.”

          Hakyeon blinked. “It’s fine, really. I can just wear the clothes I wore yesterday…”

          Taekwoon merely fixed him with a hard stare and held the clothes out insistently. Hakyeon took them with a sigh and headed for the guest room.

          The pants Taekwoon had given him – light gray jeans that were soft to the touch – were still a bit too long, but a simple roll at the hem had them resting snugly around Hakyeon’s ankles. The shirt was a sky blue button-up that fit Hakyeon perfectly, and he took a moment to stare at his reflection in the mirror before leaving the room.

          His hair was still mussed from sleep, and it hung across his forehead in soft tangles. He used a hand to brush it back from his eyes. Something about wearing Taekwoon’s clothes made him feel warm, like he had swallowed sunlight, and he curled his fingers into the shirt’s soft fabric. The eyes that stared back at him were bright, and he wondered if he had always looked like this. In his past life, when he had danced with Taekwoon through moonlit trees, had his eyes shone this way? Had the sky blue of his jacket contrasted with his skin like this; had his dark hair tangled in this same way as he pulled it back from his shoulders? Just how different had he been back then, and how different had Taekwoon been? His scattered memories showed a Taekwoon very similar to the one he knew now: soft-spoken and considerate in his own way, but his memories were incomplete, like something delicate that had been smashed and then hastily put back together with some of the pieces still missing. Just who exactly was Jung Taekwoon, both past and present? What had their relationship been, and what was it destined to be in this life?

          Hakyeon sighed and turned away from the mirror. Dwelling on it certainly wouldn’t do any good, and he knew that Jaehwan would be expecting him soon. He pushed open the door and nearly ran into Taekwoon, who had his fist raised as if he were about to knock.

          Taekwoon let out a soft sound of surprise and took a shaky step backward. “I was just about to see if you were done.”

          “Sorry.” Hakyeon kept his gaze locked on his feet. “Lost in thought again.”

          Taekwoon merely hummed and took another step backward.

          “The clothes fit,” Hakyeon said softly.

          There was a beat of silence. “That color looks nice on you.”

          Hakyeon felt a flush creeping up his neck and glanced up at Taekwoon in surprise.

          Taekwoon huffed and looked away. “Nevermind. Forget it. We need to go.”

          Hakyeon returned his gaze to his feet and tried to ignore the warmth spreading all the way down to his toes.

****

          The ride to Jaehwan’s bookstore was silent. Hakyeon tugged on the edges of his sleeves and stared out the window.

          He wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to the scenery: tall buildings stretching against the gray sky, shops and restaurants and cafes stacked on top of each other like a child’s toy blocks, low-slung power lines dipping across crowded sidewalks. Something about it felt so artificial, like he was living in some strange, fabricated version of reality that could be broken with the slightest touch. The Korea of his fragmented memories was open and airy, with a searing blue sky and open-air buildings that sprawled across vast swatches of land. It was there in bits and pieces, hovering at the edges of his mind like smoke, and there was a part of him that suddenly yearned for it.

          “We’re here.” Taekwoon’s voice pulled Hakyeon from his thoughts, and he hastily undid his seatbelt and pushed open the door.

          “I’ll…see you later, I guess,” Taekwoon called through the driver’s side window.

          Hakyeon nodded and considered wishing him good luck on his date, but his stomach twisted and he decided against it. He lifted his hand in a halfhearted wave before turning and heading up the stairs.

          “You’re here!” Jaehwan called excitedly as soon as he opened the shop’s door. “And don’t you look dashing? Are those Taekwoon’s clothes?”

          It was strange to see Jaehwan, with his own mannerisms and his own voice, after the scholar had taken on his form in the middle of the night. “He insisted,” Hakyeon said with a shrug.

          Jaehwan raised an eyebrow. “Did he?”

          Hakyeon merely shrugged again and tugged at his shirtsleeves.

          “Well.” Jaehwan clapped him on the back and grinned. “Welcome to your first day, newbie! Are you excited?”

          “A little nervous, if I’m being honest.”

          Jaehwan laughed. “There’s no need to be. Everything will be fine! I’m going to teach you how to use the register first, so you can help customers if you need to.”

          The first half of the day passed by in a blur. Hakyeon could remember pushing buttons and sifting through a drawer full of brightly colored bills, slipping books into plastic bags and telling customers to have a nice day. Jaehwan positively drowned him in encouragement, slapping him on the shoulder and urging him to help guest after guest while he and Junghwan flitted around the store to finish shelving projects.

          The clock struck noon, and there had been a significant drop in business that left Hakyeon feeling antsy. He stood at the front counter and twirled a pen through his fingers as his mind drifted again and again to thoughts of Taekwoon. Jaehwan was lounging in an overstuffed armchair with his feet propped up on a table, scrolling through his smartphone with an expression that was miles away. Junghwan had already dusted every shelf in the store, but he was at it again with a determination that was almost manic.

          “I’m hungry,” Jaehwan whined suddenly, dropping his phone on the table and sinking down lower in his armchair. “I want chicken.”

          “We have chicken like every god damn day,” Junghwan called, not once turning away from the shelf of diet books he was carefully dusting. “Can’t you be a little more creative for once in your life?”

          “Can’t you stop being an asshole for once in your life?”

          “Sorry, but it’s hardwired into my DNA.”

          Jaehwan grumbled something under his breath and turned to Hakyeon with pleading eyes. “Hakyeonnie, you’ll go get us chicken, won’t you?”

          Hakyeon frowned and looked back and forth between the two of them. “I don’t really want to come between you two, honestly.”

          Jaehwan scoffed. “What are you talking about? I’m always right. Here” – he rose from his armchair and handed Hakyeon a slim black card – “take this and go grab us some chicken. Any place is fine, we’re not really picky.”  

          “Grab me a coffee, too, while you’re at it,” Junghwan called. “Iced Americano.”

          “God, that’s disgusting,” Jaehwan groaned. “Who wants to have coffee and chicken at the same time?”

          “If I don’t get my afternoon coffee I’m going to actually rip your head from your shoulders so shut the fuck up.”

          Jaehwan rolled his eyes and ushered Hakyeon out the door. “Better get him a large or he’ll break something. See you soon!”

          Hakyeon stood at the top of the stairs and stared at the card poised between his fingers. He had no idea where the nearest coffee shop or chicken restaurant was, and he could feel a bubble of anxiety form at the back of his throat. He swallowed against it and headed down the steps and out onto the bustling sidewalk.

          He was instantly swept up in the human sea, an inexorable current of bodies jostling and pushing him forward, and he didn't try to fight against it.

          It wasn’t long before he was half a dozen streets away from Jaehwan’s bookstore, with the card stuffed into his pocket and a sense of unease heavy on the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure where he was, and each street looked the same as the last. He scanned the storefronts desperately and nearly shouted in relief when he saw the awning of a coffee shop on the nearest corner.

          The barista behind the counter was cheerful enough, and she nodded and smiled when Hakyeon asked her for a large Iced Americano. He slid Jaehwan’s card across the counter to pay, though the action still baffled him entirely. When a customer at the bookstore had given him a delicate pink card earlier that day, he had simply stared at it for five solid seconds before giving it back to her and repeating the total again. After several more moments of confusion and the customer eventually complaining, Jaehwan had come over to explain that, yes, the card was a valid way to pay, and what universe did Hakyeon come from if he didn’t understand how credit cards worked?

          He slipped the card back into his pocket and moved to wait at the end of the counter. He would have to find a chicken restaurant next, and he briefly considered the benefits of asking someone on the street for directions.

          The barista called out his order, and he flashed her a quick smile before reaching out to grab the drink in both hands. He turned to head for the exit, but the bell above the door jingled loudly as it was pushed open and a couple walked in.

          “And so I flat-out told him, ‘If I want to fit five servings of samgyeopsal in my mouth, I will!’ and I totally did. And I singlehandedly finished an entire bottle of soju. I’m pretty sure everyone in the office regrets inviting me to that company dinner.” The girl threw her head back and laughed at her own anecdote, loud and unabashed in the shop’s quiet interior. She was standing close to the man next to her, their arms linked at the elbow, and Hakyeon found himself smiling at how comfortable they seemed with one another. His eyes moved to the man’s face, to see him regarding the girl with the softest of smiles, and he felt the blood in his veins stutter to an icy halt.

          It was Taekwoon.

          Taekwoon with his dark jacket and his tousled hair, smiling at this beautiful girl with an undeniable _fondness_ in those usually guarded eyes. There was less than an inch of space between them, and Hakyeon felt something nasty and dark coil in the pit of his stomach. It sprung like a venomous snake, burning bitter on the back of his tongue, and he felt the coffee slip from his fingers as the shop dissolved into black and he was transported to another lifetime.

          The sun shone high in the searing turquoise sky as Hakyeon hitched the basket over his elbow. He had barely slept, and fatigue clawed at each of his limbs, but his father had sent him to the market and he knew he couldn’t refuse. He ran his fingers over a set of polished ink brushes and let out a breath.

          “Did you hear about the king’s nephew?” The man behind the table nudged the merchant next to him. “He’s leaving soon.”

          The brushes rattled loudly as Hakyeon’s fingers began to shake.

          The other merchant nodded. “He’s returning to his hometown in the south, isn’t he? I heard he’s to find a wife and marry under his father’s orders.”

          Hakyeon nearly vomited then. He clapped both hands over his mouth and backed away from the stall, turning on his heel and running through the crowded square toward home. The betrayal he felt was strong, surging through his veins like snake poison. He felt sick and dizzy, and he threw open the gate and collapsed onto the raised walkway. His eyes stung. A foul taste lingered on his tongue.

          But what right did he have to feel any ounce of betrayal? Taekwoon had never belonged to him. He and Taekwoon had never had any relationship at all outside of a forbidden friendship. So why did Hakyeon recoil at the thought of him being held and touched by someone else? Why did he feel sick when he thought of him whispering soft "I love you"s to someone else? It was wrong and he knew it, and he hated himself.

          The shop swam back into focus slowly, as if he were breaking through the surface of water. The Americano had made contact with the floor, spilling across Hakyeon’s sandals and staining the hem of the gray jeans Taekwoon had lent him. A dull ringing sounded in his ears.

          “Hakyeon?” Taekwoon’s soft voice, laced with something he couldn’t place.

          Hakyeon glanced up, met Taekwoon’s sharp gaze, and found his breaking point. The fondness in Taekwoon’s eyes was gone, and it was stupid, utterly _stupid_ of Hakyeon to wish for Taekwoon to look at him that way. The girl’s hand on his arm, the way she leaned instinctively toward him, it was all wrong and Hakyeon was overcome with the sudden urge to scream. He knew this feeling. He recognized it from his previous life.

          It was jealousy.

          Jealousy, betrayal, and shame. He had felt it then, and he was destined to feel it now, stuck in an endless cycle because the hands of fate had been cruel enough to suspend them in the same orbit.

_Time has an interesting way of looping back around to finish the things that it started._

He choked on a bitter laugh. What a fancy euphemism that had been. The scholar had always been that way: dressing up Hakyeon’s pain in silks to hide the ugly truth. Time wasn’t finishing anything.

          It was repeating itself.

          Hakyeon was being forced to live through the same pain twice.

          And that was too much. He tore his gaze from Taekwoon’s and shoved open the door, storming down the sidewalk with tears hot on his lashes. His hands shook at his sides and his head spun.

          “Hakyeon!” There was Taekwoon’s voice, louder than he had ever heard it, carrying on the breeze from the other end of the sidewalk. He stopped against his will, but he knew he should keep going, keep running farther and farther until the link between past and present snapped entirely so he could finally be _free_.

          But Taekwoon was there then, wrapping his fingers around his wrist, pulling him backward. “Hakyeon!”

          Hakyeon stumbled but refused to meet Taekwoon’s gaze. He blinked back tears furiously and focused on drawing air into his lungs.

          “Hakyeon, what the hell? Are you okay?”

          Hakyeon tugged his wrist away, and Taekwoon’s grasp broke easily. He turned and continued walking, anxious to put as much distance between them as possible. The thought of being away from him made his chest ache, but he knew now how wrong that was. Taekwoon wasn’t his. He never would be.

          “Hakyeon, what’s going on?” Taekwoon was in front of him, effectively blocking his path, and their eyes locked.

          And Hakyeon’s resolve melted like snowflakes in the palms of a child. Taekwoon’s eyes were wide with worry, his hands were outstretched as if to rest on Hakyeon’s shoulders, and the tears that Hakyeon had been holding back threatened to spill over.

          Taekwoon wasn’t his.

          He never would be.

          “You can’t do this to me, Taekwoon,” Hakyeon whispered. “Not again.”

          Taekwoon lowered his hands. “What?”

          He knew that Taekwoon couldn’t understand, that he would probably never understand, and it hurt _so much_ to think that he’d be left to go through this alone. He shook his head and bit back a sigh.

          “Hakyeon, what are you talking about?”

          “You’re not going to understand--”

          “I’ll understand if you just _tell me_.”

          “I loved you.” The words spilled from Hakyeon’s lips before he could think about them. His voice shook, but he didn’t allow time for regret to sink in. “And I think… I love you still.”

 

 

crossposted on [aff ](https://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1288258/8)|[tumblr](http://excelgesis.tumblr.com/post/174133530443/free-of-any-eden-chapter-8-wc-4640)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm alive! God, I'm so so so sorry about that long wait. Life got really dark for me, I was in the hospital for a bit, and things were just generally not great. I'm getting better now, though, and things are looking up, for which I'm eternally grateful. ^^
> 
> I'd like to thank you all for your comments, kudos, and continued support. They really mean the world to me, and give me motivation when my life hits rough patches! I'm so glad you're all enjoying the story and that we can all go on this adventure together. To be honest, I worry that every single chapter won't live up to your expectations, so posting them is a little nerve-wracking for me, but your feedback really makes it worth it! I'm sending out a billion hugs and kisses to each one of you. <3


	9. Cosmic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My eternal gratitude to Ayesha for being the world's greatest beta and younger sister (lekker, bru), and to Nite for staying up with me until 3 AM to cry over VIXX and Stray Kids (you're the best garlic child).

          Taekwoon blinked. “Excuse me?”

          The regret hit full force then, a tidal wave followed by a ton of bricks, and Hakyeon took a staggering step backward. His heart moved into his throat and he was overcome with an undeniable sense of wrongness. This wasn’t _right._ He had fallen in love with Taekwoon, stumbling through rain-drenched forests, grasping, reaching blindly in the dark – and Taekwoon had been there to grab his hand, to pull him close, to look up at those mesmerizing Joseon skies –

          _“What’s lovely about a simple astronomer’s son?”_

_“Everything.”_

And then he had left without a backward glance, and Hakyeon could feel water in his lungs, and then he was there on a modern sidewalk in Seoul, and the confusion in Taekwoon’s eyes was nearly palpable. Hakyeon had loved and lost, but was he truly destined to love and lose again and again? How was this a second chance? How was this a life?

          “No,” he whispered. He shook his head violently, his hands shaking at his sides like leaves in a monsoon wind. “This won’t happen again. You won’t do this to me again, you won’t, you can’t--”

          “Hakyeon, what are you--”

          “I’ll stop it.” His voice shook, and tears burned hot on his lashes. He swallowed them back. He would take any feelings he had and bury them as far as they could go. “I won’t get caught in this, Taekwoon. Not this time.”

          “What are you _saying?_ ” Taekwoon’s voice was loud, and it was laced with something akin to panic. His eyes were wide and Hakyeon almost felt guilty, his heart threatening to snap in two. But it had to be done for his own sake, for his own sanity. This was his second chance. He wasn’t going to ruin it with the same mistakes from his past.

          Perhaps falling in love with Taekwoon had been exactly that: a mistake.

          His chest ached at that, burned with a denial as steady as candle flame, but he had come to a conclusion and he wasn’t about to back down. He had loved Taekwoon, and maybe Taekwoon had loved him back countless lifetimes ago, but if the universe was going to tear them apart again and again and again, he would tear himself from Taekwoon first.

          “Go back to her.” Hakyeon waved behind him, in the general direction of the coffee shop. “I’m sure she’s waiting.”

          “Hakyeon--”

          “You look great together, by the way. She’s very pretty.” He had meant it to sound genuine, but his voice sounded weak even to his own ears. He cringed and kept his eyes fixed on his feet as he pushed past Taekwoon and strode down the sidewalk.

          He walked for minutes that could have easily stretched into hours. His chest felt hollow and there was a dull ringing in his ears. The streets were clever imposters of each other with their crisscrossing alleys and teetering storefronts, and Hakyeon saw the first drops of rain darken the sidewalk before he felt them. The trickle eventually morphed into a steady downpour, and he let out a sigh. He was lost in Seoul, in the rain, _again,_ and Jaehwan was likely worried sick.

          He ducked under the awning of a nearby convenience store and wiped the rainwater from his eyes. Anxiety began to trickle through his veins. Asking for directions seemed to be his only choice, so he pushed open the shop door and hurried inside.

          It was empty, save for a girl with a curtain of silver hair hunched over a bowl of instant ramen. A pair of earbuds hung haphazardly over the table’s edge, spilling gentle piano music into the otherwise silent store. The fluorescent light above Hakyeon’s head went out with a sudden pop, and he jumped backward in surprise.

          “Hakyeon.” The girl’s voice was low and soft. “You’re disappointing me.”

          Ice skittered down Hakyeon’s spine and he took another step back. “E-Excuse me?” He was sure he had never seen this girl before, in any lifetime, past or present—

          She turned then, her hair cascading down her back like liquid metal, her eyes dark as pitch, and her face was wholly unfamiliar. She arched a brow and stretched her legs out in front of her.

          Hakyeon cleared his throat. “Do I know you?”

          “God, I should hope not. It’s regrettable that we’re meeting at all.”

          Unease twisted around his neck like a noose and he made his way toward the door. There were alarm bells ringing in his head, clear and loud, and he reached for the handle with a shaking hand.

          Another light burst into darkness above his head and he pulled at the door frantically. The metal had taken on a chill that bit at his fingertips, and it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he tugged.

          “I’m a little offended that you want to leave already.”

          Hakyeon whirled around, his back pressed hard against the door’s freezing handle. “Who are you?”

          The girl pushed her chair back and stood, resting one hand on her hip and using the other to rake her hair back from her face. “That hardly matters, in the grand scheme of things. I’ve got a message for you, so listen well.” She strode forward until only a foot of space separated them, and when she reached out to brush a lock of hair back from his forehead, Hakyeon noticed that her nails were painted a pale yellow. It reminded him of something, though he couldn’t imagine what.

          “My boy.” It came out on a sigh that sounded almost sad. “You were so close the first time, you know. A few more months, really, and you would have made it.”

          Hakyeon swallowed. His fingers had started to shake. “What?”

          She shook her head. “You’re fighting a losing battle, Hakyeon. What you’re doing is completely futile.”

          “What are you talking about?” His fear was morphing into anger now, ire rising hot and steady in his blood, and he kept their gazes locked. “I’m not fighting anything--”

          “Taekwoon.” The name fell from her lips like a piece of glass, shattering against the tile floor with enough force to render Hakyeon speechless. “Putting distance between the two of you isn’t going to change anything.”

          Hakyeon nearly choked on his own breath. How had she known?

          “You’re meddling where you shouldn’t be.” Her voice took on a bitter chill, a swatch of velvet turned stiff with winter frost. “Stop thinking you know better than the universe.”

          His mind flipped back to mere moments before, standing in front of Taekwoon with tears in his eyes: _“I won’t get caught in this, Taekwoon. Not this time.”_  

          “Fate has a plan for you, Hakyeon.” She reached up to rest her hand against his cheek, and he flinched at her frigid touch.

          That was when he found his voice. “If fate means to tear me apart from Taekwoon again and again, I want no part in it.”

          “This isn’t about what you want. There’s an order to the universe, Hakyeon, and you’ve already tampered with it once. It isn’t going to happen again.”

          His fingers curled into fists, fingernails digging sharp crescents into his palms, but the pain didn’t help clear the spinning in his head. “You aren’t making sense--”

          She took another step closer and her eyes thinned to dangerous slits. “King Yeongjo’s reign, the summer of 1744. Do you really think that’s when you were meant to die?”

          And suddenly he was shivering down to his toes, there was water in his lungs and he could feel himself drifting down and down and down into an inky blackness. His mind was wiped clean of every emotion except terror and he couldn’t _breathe—_

          His legs gave way and he sank to the tile floor, coughing and gasping for air.

          Drowning. That was how he had ended his life that fateful summer, all those years ago. He could still feel the icy bite of water on his skin, could still see the moon reflecting bright off the river’s glassy surface. He could still feel the pressure on his limbs as he sank down and down and down.

          “Perhaps I wasn’t meant to die then,” he gasped. “But I made my choice.”

          “And it wasn’t without its consequences.” She folded her arms tight across her chest and stared down at him. “Do you know what happened when Taekwoon came back to the capital city to visit the king?”

          Hakyeon’s breath halted in his chest. “What?”

          “There was a grand procession to welcome him, and he searched the crowd for you, but you weren’t there. He left his quarters in the middle of the night, snuck to the forest and waited for _hours_ just to see you, but you never came. So he went to your part of town, asked everyone where the astronomer’s son lived, and they pitied him because he didn’t know you were gone.”

          Hakyeon could feel his entire body shaking, tremors tumbling from his head to his toes, and he pulled his knees to his chest. “You’re lying,” he whispered. “You’re lying, it’s a lie--”

          “He tried to kill himself, you know. After he found out.” Her voice dropped and Hakyeon felt like he was choking. “His wife found him and put a stop to it, but he was never the same. Not after what you did.”

          “I had to do it!” Hakyeon shook his head frantically as sobs clawed their way up his throat. “There was no future for me, I had nothing! And he- he left me, he left without a second thought--”

          “You were lovelier than the stars to him, Hakyeon. Did you really think he wouldn’t come back for you?”

          That hit like a bullet, and he trembled with the force of his tears. Just how much heartache had he caused? And how could Taekwoon have risked so much to see him again? He envisioned a reunion in a darkened forest, Taekwoon tugging the ribbon from his hair, Hakyeon’s fingers ghosting along his skin, hushed whispers of how much they had missed each other.

          The girl leaned down and pulled Hakyeon to his feet, her grip like iron on his forearms. He steadied himself against the door as his legs shook and his head spun.

“You deviated from fate’s plan and threw away your own life,” she said slowly, her pitch-dark eyes boring into his own. “You disrupted the natural order. I won’t sit back and watch you do it again. This second life isn’t a gift, Hakyeon, I’m not being _generous_. You owe the universe a debt, and you’re here to repay it.”

          There was a flash of white light, blinding in its intensity, and he felt freezing raindrops dance across his shoulders. He opened his eyes to a street that looked vaguely familiar, and he hastily blinked away rainwater to better gauge his surroundings.

          “Hakyeon?”

          His head snapped upward at the sound, and there was Taekwoon, dressed in regal reds and golds with petals falling softly on his shoulders like snow. Hakyeon’s breath hitched and he nearly choked on his guilt.

          _“He was never the same. Not after what you did.”_

“T-Taekwoon…” It came out broken and small, and Hakyeon took a staggering step forward. He blinked again and the scene slid out of focus, the reds melting into shades of black and gray, but Taekwoon was still there, the robes of royalty replaced with his dark jacket and loosened necktie. His hair was plastered to his forehead with rain, and he stood in the middle of the empty street.

          Hakyeon took another step forward, then two and three more, and he was clinging to the front of Taekwoon’s jacket before he could stop himself. Hot tears mixed with the freezing rainwater on his cheeks and he let his forehead fall against Taekwoon’s shoulder. To Hakyeon’s surprise, Taekwoon didn’t step back, but instead stayed rooted in place with his arms slack at his sides.

          _“You were lovelier than the stars to him, Hakyeon. Did you really think he wouldn’t come back for you?”_

          “I’m so sorry,” Hakyeon gasped. It was an apology given two centuries too late, but he had to say it or his chest would surely collapse with the weight of his guilt. “Taekwoon, I never thought— If I had known that I could see you again, I wouldn’t have— God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t _know--_ ” A sob stuck in his throat and he coughed, his fingers digging harder into the soaked fabric of Taekwoon’s jacket.

          And Taekwoon’s arms were around him then, hesitant and gentle. Hakyeon started in surprise and glanced up at him, but his face was turned away. He drew in a breath and wrapped his arms around Taekwoon’s waist, and it was stunningly intoxicating: the warmth, the proximity, the shiver that raced down his spine that had nothing to do with the freezing rain. And Taekwoon must have felt it too, because the tips of his fingers dug into Hakyeon’s back, pulling him closer—

          “Sorry to interrupt, but where the _fuck_ is my Iced Americano?”

          Taekwoon stiffened and pulled away, and Hakyeon followed his gaze to see Junghwan squinting at them through the rain. The burgundy umbrella clutched in his hand was most likely stolen from Jaehwan, and he had the other hand planted securely on his hip.

          Hakyeon swallowed and hastily wiped at his eyes. He had forgotten entirely about the coffee and chicken he had been assigned to buy. “Uh…”

          Junghwan sighed. “Forget it. Jaehwan’s worried sick about you, so you better come upstairs before he calls the police to file a missing person report. God, how long have you been out here?” He shook his head and turned to hurry up the stairs. It struck Hakyeon then why the street had seemed familiar: he was outside the building that housed Jaehwan’s bookstore, a teetering conglomeration of storefronts on a quiet side road.

          He looked back to Taekwoon, a question hovering on his lips, but he had already turned and begun to walk away. Hakyeon resisted the urge to call out to him, to wrap his arms around him, bury his face in his neck, and beg him to stay.

          But Taekwoon wasn’t his.

          He reminded himself of the girl from the coffee shop, the way Taekwoon had looked at her with such undeniable fondness, and he shook his head. Taekwoon only ever looked at him with confusion and an unfathomable pain that made his heart ache. And Hakyeon knew it would be best to stay away, to keep his distance, but whenever they touched it was a veritable _symphony_ —

          _“Putting distance between the two of you isn’t going to change anything.”_

Ice-cold words and hair like liquid metal, but what was any of it supposed to mean? He took a breath and hurried up the stairs, shaking rainwater from his hair as he went. He would dwell on it later, in those rosy early-dawn hours before the city woke up to bog him down in the mire of everyday life.

          He pushed open the door to the bookstore and was immediately met with a piercing shriek. Jaehwan ran forward and grabbed him by the wrists, the shriek fading when he realized that Hakyeon was physically unscathed. “You’re soaked, oh my God, what the hell happened?”

          “I got… lost,” Hakyeon said weakly.

          Jaehwan frowned. “For over an hour?”

          Hakyeon opened his mouth to deliver a halfhearted lie when a voice interrupted him. “Is this the kid who needs the place? With a face like that, I’m sure my aunt will let him stay for free.”

          Hakyeon glanced up to see a boy leaning against the front counter. The sleeves of his oversized hoodie hung past his fingertips, and his disheveled hair was a pretty shade of blush. He raised an eyebrow when he caught Hakyeon staring. “I’m good looking, yeah, thanks for noticing. I’ll pose for a picture if you want one.”

          Junghwan, teetering behind the counter under the weight of a dozen books, shot the boy a glare. “For the love of God, Seokjin--”

          Jaehwan tugged Hakyeon forward. “I haven’t exactly run the idea by him yet, but…”

          Hakyeon blinked, his head spinning. “What?”

          “Well, you don’t have a place to stay, right?” Jaehwan’s eyes were bright and his words ran quick. “I remembered that Seokjin’s aunt owns a boarding house not far from here, and he technically owes me a favor because of that one time in Hongdae with the vodka shots and the illegal fireworks--”

          Seokjin scowled. “We agreed not to talk about that, as per our bro code.”

          Jaehwan waved a hand. “Anyways, she has a few rooms open, if you wanna go see? Your paycheck from here should be more than enough to cover rent. What is it, Seokjin, like 400,000 won?”

          “Yep. Breakfast, dinner, and laundry included.”

          “Unless, of course, you want to keep staying with Taekwoon.” Jaehwan shrugged. “I don’t know if he’ll be okay with that, but I guess we can ask…”

          Hakyeon flinched and thought of Taekwoon’s retreating back, their arms around each other, the guilt in his throat—

          “No,” he whispered. “I… I think it’s best for us to be apart.” It felt wrong to say it, like something in the cosmos had shifted out of place, but what else could he do?

          A clap of thunder reverberated throughout the building, the lights flickered for a dizzying instant, and Hakyeon felt unease heavy around his neck.

          Seokjin jumped. “Jesus. Let’s go before the storm gets worse, then. I hate driving in the rain as it is.” He tugged his hood over his head and made for the door.

          Jaehwan flashed Hakyeon a smile. “Don’t worry about coming back tonight, just focus on making yourself at home. I don’t think we’ll get too busy with this weather, anyway.”

          “You’re not coming?”

          “I’ve got a shelving project to finish, and Junghwan will murder me if I leave.”

          “You’re damn right I will!” Junghwan shouted from behind a cart of magazines.

          Jaehwan rolled his eyes. “Seokjin will show you around, don’t worry.”

          “I don’t bite,” Seokjin drawled, leaning against the wall next to the door. “Unless you’re into that. I mean, I’m down for a threesome if you are--” His sentence broke off in a high-pitched yelp as a magazine sailed through the air and smacked him in the face.

****

          The building was a tall concrete slab with a bank of windows, and everything was awash in a dreary gray that made Hakyeon’s stomach twist. Everything about this life was beginning to feel so artificial, so hauntingly fake, and he yearned for the wide-open reality of endless forests and clear Joseon skies.

          Seokjin hurried up the slick steps and pressed the button for the elevator. The doors slid open with a groan and Hakyeon took a step back.

          “I’ll take the stairs.”

          “It’s the fifth floor, but suit yourself,” Seokjin said with a wave.

          Hakyeon mounted the stairs as quickly as the collected rainwater would allow, passing a daycare center and a pharmacy on the way up. It seemed strange to him that such unrelated things could all be housed in the same building, but then again, everything in this new life was proving to be strange.

          He met Seokjin on the fifth floor, in front of a wide door painted midnight blue. After punching in the appropriate passcode, the automatic lock let out a series of harsh beeps and Seokjin pulled the door open to usher Hakyeon inside.

          It was a kitchen, surprisingly cozy, with two matching wooden tables and a long stretch of counter space. Seokjin kicked off his shoes and strode across the room to knock on a door that had been left slightly ajar.

          It was pulled open to reveal a short, squat woman in a floral dress and a pink apron, her eyes wide behind thick, square-rimmed glasses. Her short hair was pulled back with a bandana, and she grinned when she saw Seokjin standing in front of her.

          “Seokjin-ah! I was so happy when you called— what happened to your hair?”

          Seokjin let out a weak chuckle. “I just dyed it, auntie.”

          She hummed. “It suits your face. Very pretty. Did you bring the boy? I’ve already prepared his room.”

          Seokjin nodded and gestured over his shoulder to where Hakyeon was still standing near the door. His aunt looked up, her eyes locked with Hakyeon’s, and her face instantly morphed into an expression of heart-wrenching sadness.

          “Oh, you poor thing,” she whispered.

          Hakyeon blinked. “Excuse me?”

          “The universe hasn’t been kind to you.” She shook her head. “And you don’t have much time left here. You’re still so young… Fate really does deal the cruelest hand.”

          Seokjin grimaced and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, auntie, we don’t really have time for this right now. Save it for the paying customers--”

          But Hakyeon could hear his blood rushing in his ears, could feel sweat slick on his palms. Something wasn’t right, like the planet had shifted the wrong way on its axis, and he felt unsteady on his feet.

          “Look, you scared him.” Seokjin sighed and moved to grab Hakyeon by the wrist. “Which room is it? I’ll take him.”

          A long pause. “112.”

          Seokjin tugged Hakyeon down a narrow corridor that branched off the kitchen, his footsteps soundless on the hardwood floor. The hallway was lined with doors, all painted the same identical shade of mint green. They came to a stop at the final room, and Seokjin turned toward Hakyeon with an apologetic frown.

          “Forgive my aunt,” he said under his breath. “She does fortune telling and tarot reading in the off season. She says she’s in-tune with the supernatural, but it’s really just a load of shit. People pay her good money for it, but…” He shook his head. “It’s smoke and mirrors, honestly. Don’t listen to her.”

          Hakyeon nodded and averted his gaze. Perhaps it had been a fluke, a massive coincidence. But his chest felt tight and he thought he might be sick.

          Seokjin placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder before pushing open the door and waving him inside. “Well, come in, come in. Tell me what you think.”

          The room was small but comfortable and plastered with pale blue wallpaper that reminded Hakyeon of the summer sky. There was a bed in one corner opposite a simple wooden writing desk, a chest of drawers, and a metal clothing rack outfitted with several empty hangers. He couldn’t imagine himself needing anything more, and it felt good knowing that this space was his, really and truly his, without being a burden to anyone else.

          “It’s perfect,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

          “Gross. Don’t get sappy on me or I’ll puke.” He punched Hakyeon lightly on the arm and glanced at the wall clock. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go, dude. Places to be, people to charm, you know the drill. Feel free to make yourself at home. Dinner is at six every night, just go out to the kitchen and help yourself. Breakfast is at eight. Oh, and Jaehwan will probably be by to see you sometime today, too.”

          The sudden gratitude he felt got stuck in his throat, and he swallowed. How could anyone say the universe hadn’t been kind to him, when it had given him people like this? “Thank you. Really. Thank you so much.”

          Seokjin shrugged. “I owed Jaehwan a favor. It’s really not much. I’ll see you around, okay?”

          “Yeah. See you around.”

****

          Hakyeon could tell by the clock’s sluggish hands that his bedroom light had been flickering for over an hour, and a steady anxiety had found its way into his chest. He was afraid of thunderstorms, he supposed, if the knot in his stomach was any indication. It had been centuries, but he could remember closing his window tight and lighting extra lanterns, a blanket heavy on his shoulders as the white-hot flash of lightning kept him awake.

          He rolled to his side and stared at the floral curtains he had drawn over the windows. They were thin and hardly effective, but closing them had made him feel like he had some semblance of control. Lightning flashed, the overhead light flickered into several seconds of darkness, and he curled in on himself.

          He could hear a light tapping, too loud to be the rain, and he sat up in bed to glance around the room. And there it was again, gentle but insistent, and Hakyeon frowned. And suddenly it was terrifying to be in this confined space all alone, drowning in a deluge of unwarranted anxiety—

          Knocking. Someone was knocking softly at the door, again and again and again, and Hakyeon’s fear dispelled like air from a popped balloon. Such insistence could only be Jaehwan, and he rolled out of bed to pull the door open.

          Taekwoon blinked several times before shifting his gaze to the ground. The dripping umbrella in his hands was closed and leaving a sizable puddle on the hardwood, but he didn’t seem to notice.

          Hakyeon’s breath stuttered. “Taekwoon? H-how did you…?”

          “Jaehwan doesn’t keep secrets.” It was so soft, nearly a whisper, and he kept his eyes fixed on his shoes. Hakyeon yearned to reach out to him, to push his hair back from his forehead and wrap his arms around his neck and—

          No. Taekwoon wasn’t his.

          He cleared his throat. “Can I help you?”

          Taekwoon looked up then, and Hakyeon realized with a start that he wasn’t wearing his glasses. His eyes were wide without them, full of an emotion Hakyeon couldn’t quite place, and he looked surprisingly vulnerable. He took a step forward, Hakyeon instinctively took a step back, and the overhead light flickered into darkness.

          Hakyeon froze as the room was pitched into a premature dusk, hovering shadows and inky gray corners slipping in and out of focus. The world seemed to break into pieces as thunder tore through the sky. His nerves were on high alert, each one pulled taut and ready to snap, and he didn’t need Taekwoon to see him like this.

          “Could you maybe… come back later?” It came out weaker than he’d intended.

          There was a loud clatter as Taekwoon dropped his umbrella to the floor, and his arms were around Hakyeon in the swiftest of instants. He pulled him close, as soft and gentle as ever, but there was an urgency to it that forced Hakyeon’s heart into his throat.

          “I’m not sure why,” Taekwoon breathed. “But I needed to do this again.”

          And Hakyeon couldn’t fight it, couldn’t fight the way his breath left his body, the way his arms clung to Taekwoon of their own accord, the way he leaned into the embrace like he’d cease to exist without it.

          He didn’t notice the rain slow to a gentle trickle outside the window. He didn’t notice the light flicker back to life. What he did notice was Taekwoon’s breath against his neck, his fingers buried in the fabric of his shirt, and how the cosmos seemed to tilt back into place, if only for a moment.

          The surroundings melted into a late Joseon forest, heavy with mist and pressing darkness. Damp cherry blossom petals clung to the ground and the moon was a pale crescent draped in cotton clouds. There was no one to see, no one to judge, and no pretense to maintain.

          And in that moment, Taekwoon was his.

 

 

crossposted on [aff](https://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1288258/9) | [tumblr](http://excelgesis.tumblr.com/post/175906138068/free-of-any-eden-chapter-9-wc-4595)    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, surprise! I'm alive and well. This chapter was rough for me and writer's block has me in its evil clutches, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. There are a few things I want to mention: 
> 
> 1) Hakyeon's "Fate" performance. I watched it three times and I cried. Am I the only one who thought it gave off FOAE vibes? Although I suppose it is self-centered of me to be reminded of my own story when watching something...  
> 2) I'll be at KCon LA next month, so if any of you are planning to go as well, let's meet up for cupcakes and bubble tea and karaoke. I'll be the girl crying really loudly over Pentagon and spending all her money on Dreamcatcher merchandise.  
> 3) Your kudos, comments, and support really mean the world. I know the updates are slow, and I'm so sorry for that, but thank you for sticking around through it all! I want to meet each of you to give you my never-ending love and support. <3


	10. Horizon in Flames

          Coming back to reality felt like waking up late on a lazy summer afternoon. Hakyeon felt warm from his fingers to his toes, and the edges of his consciousness were soft and hazy as cotton. He blinked – once, twice, three times – and the summer warmth was doused in icy water.

          He remembered Taekwoon with a beautiful girl at his side, that fond smile on his face, that light in his eyes, and it _hurt._

          “Taekwoon,” he whispered.

          And to his surprise, Taekwoon didn’t back away. Hakyeon could feel his fingers clinging to his shirt and his breath stirring his hair. “Hmm?”

          “Shouldn’t you let go?” The sunlight in his chest flared angrily at the notion, but how could Taekwoon ever understand--?

          “I know I should.” Taekwoon’s voice was velvet-soft. “So why can’t I?”

          Hakyeon’s heart was in his throat then, and he wanted nothing more than for this moment to stretch into eternity. But the guilt was there, sharp as acid, and jealousy was its faithful companion, dark and nasty and waiting to strike.

          “It’s wrong,” Taekwoon breathed. “I know it is.”

          Hakyeon stiffened. “What’s wrong?”

          “This.” Taekwoon pulled him closer still, and the entirety of the universe seemed to settle into its rightful pattern. “Why do I want this? I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t…”

          “It’s complicated, Taekwoon. You… You wouldn’t understand--”

          Taekwoon took a step back and let his arms fall to his sides. His eyes were alight with an insatiable curiosity that Hakyeon had seen a hundred times before, bright underneath the burning Joseon stars. The familiarity made his chest ache.

          “You said…” Taekwoon paused, his eyes searching Hakyeon’s face. “Back there, on the sidewalk, you said…”

          Hakyeon swallowed as his hands started to shake.

          “You said you loved me. H-how could you… how could you say that?”

          He could still feel the regret like a physical weight. “F-forget it, Taekwoon--”

          Taekwoon shook his head, and Hakyeon watched the stray droplets of rainwater that tumbled down his face like tears. “When was it?”

          Hakyeon blinked. “What?”

          “When did you… love me?”

          _A dozen lifetimes ago, when you held my hand in moonlit forests and whispered to me on cherry blossom breezes like we were the only two people in the entire universe._

“Oh, Taekwoon,” Hakyeon breathed as sorrow clawed its way up his throat. “It was a very, very long time ago.”

          And Taekwoon stood, still as marble, the silence between them morphing into a delicate sheet of glass. One wrong word, one strong breath, and it would shatter against the floor and leave them to walk across the pieces.

          Hakyeon took a step back and let it break. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

          “Stop it.” Taekwoon’s voice shook. “I know you’re keeping something from me. Just tell me. Just tell me what it is _._ ”

          “You wouldn’t believe me if I did--”

          “If you’re going to talk so much, I would suggest closing the door first.” The voice came from the doorway, and Hakyeon and Taekwoon both started at the sound. The temperature in the room dialed down to a bitter chill, and Hakyeon recognized that cascade of silver hair—

          “What are you doing here?” He gasped.

          The girl’s lips curled upward in a lazy smile as she pushed herself away from the doorframe. “My job.”

          Taekwoon frowned. “Who are you?”

          “Let’s skip the formalities, hmm?” She strode into the room, and the overhead light flickered dangerously. “Who I am hardly matters, and I know all about you, Jung Taekwoon. So I don’t think introductions are really necessary.”

          Taekwoon glanced at Hakyeon, eyes wide, and Hakyeon watched him fumble in his jacket pocket with trembling fingers. He pulled out his cellphone and tapped hastily at the screen.

          “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.” The girl let out a long-suffering sigh and grabbed the phone between her thumb and index finger. “This will look worse if you call the police, trust me. God, people these days are always so quick to jump to conclusions.” She let the cellphone clatter to the hardwood and brushed her hair back from one shoulder. She pressed the heel of her boot against the screen, flashed them both a quick smile, and ground her heel down until the glass split and cracked into spiderwebs.

          Taekwoon’s lips parted, and he stared at her in shocked silence.

          “Tell him about the dreams, Taekwoon. Wouldn’t this all be easier if you stopped hiding things?”

          Hakyeon could hear Taekwoon suck in a breath. “How did you--”

          The girl smiled again, a lifeless movement of lips pulling back over teeth. It didn’t reach her storm-dark eyes. “When I said I knew all about you, I wasn’t lying.”

          “I don’t know what you mean,” Taekwoon whispered.

          “Okay, look.” She kicked the battered cellphone to the side and was an inch from Taekwoon’s face in less than a second. Her pale fingers yanked at his necktie until his eyes were level with hers. “This whole innocent act you’ve got going on was cute for the first few hours, but now it’s really getting old. Hiding yourself behind pretty girls and tailored suits doesn’t change the truth, Jung Taekwoon.” She spit out his name as if it were an expletive. “I liked you a lot better back then, you know. At least when you were royalty you had a goddamn spine.” She released his necktie and watched as he sank to the floor.

          “And you.” She turned toward Hakyeon, eyes blazing, and he took a hesitant step back. “This entire mess is because of you. You’ve got mere months to pay back this debt. I suggest you don’t waste them.” There was a rush of wind, the door slammed shut, and she was gone.

          Hakyeon’s legs wobbled and he sank to the ground next to Taekwoon. Mere months? The scholar hadn’t said anything about a time limit; wasn’t his goal to live out a full second life, to put the universe in its rightful place by completing the entire course fate had laid out for him? His mind flicked back to the convenience store, to the girl’s sad eyes and cold hands:

          _“You were so close the first time, you know. A few more months, really, and you would have made it.”_

Made it to what?

          He buried his face in his hands and tugged at his hair, but the pain didn’t ground him like he had hoped it would.

          “Hakyeon.” Taekwoon’s voice was ragged and frayed at the edges. “I-I should tell you…”

          Hakyeon glanced at him, all wide eyes and tousled hair, and wanted so badly to hold him like his life depended on it. “Tell me what, Taekwoon?”

          “About the dreams.”

          He could remember Taekwoon in the hallway of Wonshik’s apartment building, his sharp gaze diluted with uncertainty as he hesitated in front of the elevator: _“I dreamt of you, too. And I think it’s best if you stay away from me.”_

“Taekwoon, you don’t have to. You don’t have to listen to her--”

          The rain began to pick up again, tapping insistently against the window.

          “She’s right, though,” he gasped. “She’s right about all of it.” His gaze was fixed against the opposite wall and his lips turned down at the corners. “Maybe if I explain, this will all be easier…”

          Hakyeon’s mind was alight now, a moth drawn to a lantern flame, and he leaned forward. “Then explain, Taekwoon.” He was itching to initiate contact, to card his fingers through his tangled hair and cling to his jacket, but his mind habitually rebelled against the thought.

          “I dream of you every night.” Taekwoon’s voice was soft, but the words fell from his lips like they were fashioned from lead. “I can hardly sleep. Every time I close my eyes, you’re just… _there_.”

          Something arced through Hakyeon’s veins, part anxiety and part hope, and he swallowed. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating--”

          Taekwoon’s eyes slid to his. “Every night, Hakyeon. Every. Single. Night.”

          “I-I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.” It was a lie and he knew it, and it left a bitter taste in its wake.

          “If I ask you something, will you answer honestly?” Taekwoon’s tone was wary, but he kept his gaze locked on Hakyeon’s face.

          “Y-Yes, I will.”  

          “Did we meet in school?”

          Hakyeon paused. “No.”

          “Were we friends when we were kids?”

          “N-no.” His voice broke, and it took every ounce of his meager willpower to keep his eyes from turning to the floor.

          “But on the day we first met… That wasn’t actually our first meeting, was it?” The overhead light reflected in his eyes, and it was so similar to moonlight, and Hakyeon could have sworn he felt the softest summer breeze dance along his skin. Reds and golds and purples, delicate silk against his hands – it was all here, hidden under layers of stark gray modernity, inches away from the tips of his fingers—

          “No,” Hakyeon breathed. “It wasn’t.”

          Taekwoon shook his head then, a sudden and jerky motion, and his hands curled into fists atop his lap. “I’m losing my mind. None of this is real--”

          The desperation in his voice was the ultimate tipping point, and Hakyeon reached out for his hand. He tugged at his fingers gently, one by one, until Taekwoon uncurled his fist. “Doesn’t it feel real?”

          He could hear Taekwoon’s unsteady breathing. “What?”

          “This.” He laced his fingers through Taekwoon’s and it was so blissfully safe. “Doesn’t this feel real to you?”

          Taekwoon’s lips parted, but Hakyeon was met with nothing but a heavy silence.

          “Try telling me about the dreams.”

          Taekwoon’s eyes fell to their clasped hands and stayed there, a moth transfixed by a burning light, and he was silent for seconds that stretched into eons. “I see you,” he finally whispered, his voice wrapped in a velvet uncertainty. “I see you dancing in forests after dark with a ribbon in your hair, and you smile at me and take my hand, and the stars are brighter than any I’ve ever seen…”

          Hakyeon could feel his heart climbing into his throat. “And?”

          “And I’m dressed in silks, and my room in the palace is wide and dark and empty, and I’m so lonely without you. I have attendants and servants, meetings and duties and a family name to uphold, but I don’t want any of it because… It’s all keeping me away from _you_.”

          Hakyeon wasn’t prepared for this. Taekwoon’s heart had always been somewhat of an enigma, buried deep behind brief touches and scattered compliments, only to be ripped away at the last moment by his obscure bride. Hearing his perspective and seeing the want laid bare in his eyes stole all the air from Hakyeon’s lungs.

          “It scares me,” Taekwoon breathed. His fingers shook against Hakyeon’s. “How much I want you. How much I miss you. But I know it’s wrong, and I know I can’t have you, and I have to leave you to marry a girl I’ve never met…”

          Hakyeon nearly choked on his own breath. He could still feel the nausea, the hot tears on his lashes, the tremors in his hands as he imagined Taekwoon being held by someone else. The Waiting Place had diluted the pain, convincing him that his reactions to affection were carefully made choices. And perhaps they were, at the end of the day when he sorted through scattered memories like stray bits of parchment. But this was visceral, clawing its way through his veins with razor-sharp talons and a mind of its own. “Perhaps you end up loving her,” he gasped.

          Taekwoon shook his head. “It’s not possible.” The words were delicate as petals. “Not when I’ve given my heart so completely to you.”

          And Hakyeon was sure he had been nailed to the floor, his heart stuttering in his chest like a trapped hummingbird, his breath catching in his throat –

          Taekwoon had been his.

          All those years ago in darkened forests, with those gentle touches and hushed words, Taekwoon had been _his_. Truly his, heart and body and soul, and Hakyeon had let himself sink down and down until there was nothing but icy water and crushing darkness. But Taekwoon had always planned to see him again. Taekwoon had never meant to completely leave him behind –

          “Why,” Hakyeon gasped, his voice shaking like leaves in a hurricane, “why didn’t you tell me?”

          Taekwoon’s lips turned down at the corners. “Tell you what?”

          “If you loved me… w-why didn’t you say anything?”

          There was a beat of silence that lasted longer than it should have. “Hakyeon, they’re just dreams--”

          “You know that’s not true.”

          Taekwoon’s eyes were wide, and he pulled his hand from Hakyeon’s grip. “I… I don’t know what I know. None of this makes sense.”

          “It makes perfect sense!” Hakyeon’s voice broke like glass on concrete, and he couldn’t stop the sob that began to blossom in his chest. Here Taekwoon was, a hair’s breadth from the tips of his fingers, teetering on the edge of a monumental understanding, and he was poised to take a step back from that knowledge as if it all meant nothing. “King Yeongjo’s reign, 1744. You were the king’s nephew and I was an astronomer’s son, and we shouldn’t have had anything to do with each other but we met every week to dance in the forest after dark--”

          Taekwoon inched backward across the floor, but Hakyeon could see a flicker of understanding buried deep at the back of his eyes. “H-how did you--”

          “Because I was _there,_ Taekwoon. I was there and I loved you so much, and when you left I couldn’t bear it and I…” His fingers curled into fists atop his lap as the guilt and regret flared through his veins tenfold.

          The moment hung from a quickly fraying thread, swaying back and forth in a tension-laced silence. Neither of them moved. The thread was fraying, fraying, fraying…

          And it snapped.

          “I came back for you.” Taekwoon’s words quavered with a barely repressed emotion that Hakyeon couldn’t place. His head was bent low, his hair hanging forward to cover his eyes, and his hands shook.

          Hakyeon’s heart ached. “T-Taekwoon…”

          “I came back for you!” It came out as a shout, and Taekwoon’s head snapped upward to meet Hakyeon’s gaze. His eyes burned with two hundred years of pain, and the tears snaking down his cheeks glistened painfully bright. “I risked everything for you! My marriage, my status, my pride – and you couldn’t even _wait for me?_ I had to find out from the townsfolk, Hakyeon, about what you did--” He pressed a hand against his mouth, and Hakyeon winced at the way his shoulders trembled.

          Hakyeon could feel his own tears building along his lashes. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know…”

          Taekwoon shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. “Apologies aren’t going to cut it, Hakyeon.” He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of a hand and made his way toward the door.

          “W-wait.” Hakyeon scrambled forward on hands and knees and reached for the hem of Taekwoon’s jacket until he had the fabric secure in his fist. He couldn’t let Taekwoon walk away, not like this, not when their hearts were on their sleeves and the past two centuries felt close enough to touch.

          Taekwoon looked down at him, and fresh tears trailed from his eyes like miniature stars. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”

          “You can’t go.” Hakyeon’s voice was heavy with desperation.

          Taekwoon gently tugged his jacket from Hakyeon’s grasp. “I can’t deal with this. Not right now.” His fingers trembled at his sides. “I… I need to be alone.” He turned and strode down the hallway, and Hakyeon stared after his retreating back.

          But it wasn’t long before the despair in his chest morphed into anger, a steady sort of ire that mounted into a boiling in his veins and a ringing in his ears. _Taekwoon_ needed to be alone? _Taekwoon_ couldn’t deal with this? What about Hakyeon, who had spent over two centuries eking out an existence between life and death because of the pain Taekwoon had put him through? What about Hakyeon, who was now stuck in this strange second life to repay the universe for the sin he had only committed to rid himself of suffering?

          What about _him?_

          Those thoughts launched him to his feet and down the hallway. He was out the main door, down the stairs, and on the street before he knew exactly what he was doing. It was a residential side road high on a hill, and on one end he could see a drop off to the sprawling city with its teetering apartment buildings and rooftop gardens. The sun had just started to set, and fire bloomed along the horizon to meld with patchy lavender clouds. Hakyeon thought it seemed fitting, a fire in the sky to match the fire in his blood.

          He stormed down the street, hands balled into fists, and it wasn’t long before he saw him.

          Taekwoon was standing in the middle of the road, head tilted back toward the sky, eyes closed and shoulders shaking with the force of his tears. The colors of the sunset were tangled in his hair and spilled across his face like paint, blush pinks and sunshine yellows. Such soft tones seemed out of place on someone so unbearably sad.

          And Hakyeon felt the fire dim, cooling to embers and then to ashes.

          _“He was never the same. Not after what you did.”_

          It dawned then, slowly but with an aching tenacity: he was selfish. From the moment he had laid eyes on Taekwoon to his very last frigid breath, Hakyeon had been selfish. Even here, even now, Hakyeon was assuming that his pain eclipsed Taekwoon’s on all levels. But what proof did he have of that?

          He took a halting step forward, and Taekwoon turned at the sound of his approach. His eyes were rimmed in bright red, and Hakyeon felt his heart turn itself inside out.

          “Please, just go,” Taekwoon whispered.

          Hakyeon shook his head and took another step forward. “I can’t leave you again.”

          Taekwoon’s resulting laugh was watery and devoid of humor. “Of course you can, Hakyeon. Just turn around. Just walk back up the street and _leave_. I don’t completely understand what’s going on here but” – he took a shaky breath – “maybe we’re supposed to be apart.”

          “Taekwoon, no.” He reached for one of Taekwoon’s hands and held it firmly in his own. “Why would we both be here, at the same time, if we weren’t meant to be together?”

          “You put me through hell, Hakyeon.” Taekwoon’s voice quavered and broke. “I won’t go through that again. I can’t.”

          Hakyeon’s stomach twisted into knots as he saw him stumbling blindly through darkened forests, branches clawing at his silken robes and tearing at his skin as he sobbed for hours that stretched into days.

          “Darling,” Hakyeon breathed, and the endearment fell so effortlessly, so naturally, as if his lips had been waiting eons to speak the word, and he saw Taekwoon’s entire body stiffen. “I never meant to hurt you.” The tears were there, liquid fire on his lashes, and he reached up to place a hand on the side of Taekwoon’s face. “I was suffering so much, and I couldn’t think of anything else to do. It was selfish, I know it was, and I could apologize a million times and it would never be enough. But in the end, Taekwoon, you’re as guilty as I am. We’re both to blame.”

          “I’m sorry,” Taekwoon whispered, voice thick with tears.

          Hakyeon shook his head and moved to place his other hand on Taekwoon’s cheek. It was strange, holding Taekwoon in his hands like this, because Hakyeon felt he was delicate as glass, yet he wanted to cling to him with a fierce and inescapable tenacity. “This is our chance to do it right. Our chance to be better.” Hakyeon took a step forward. He could feel Taekwoon’s shaky breath tumble over his lips.

          Maybe he was just here to repay the universe by righting his wrongs.

          And perhaps his greatest sin had been cutting his own life short.

          But had he not committed another grievous sin by breaking Taekwoon’s heart?

          “This is my chance to love you like I should have the first time,” Hakyeon breathed. And he leaned forward to press his lips softly against Taekwoon’s.

          It was as if the entire universe shuddered to a halt, the gears and cogs of time ceasing to turn as the cosmos let out a breath. All of creation had shifted into its proper place and all relevance, all meaning, all purpose was concentrated on that street in the streaky light of the setting sun.

          Taekwoon’s fingers shook as he threaded them through Hakyeon’s hair, and his lips parted on the gentlest of sighs. He was hesitant and delicate, their lips barely brushing, and Hakyeon could feel warmth tumbling down to his toes. Taekwoon had always been silks and flower petals: soft and meant to be handled with care. Hakyeon let his hands trail from his cheeks to link carefully behind his neck.

          But he wanted more, wanted Taekwoon closer, and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss before he could stop himself. He stiffened in surprise when Taekwoon responded in earnest, tugging at Hakyeon’s hair and pressing his body close.

          The sun continued to sink on the horizon, spilling fire across the city and up the hill. It bathed them in a light ethereal and picturesque, and Hakyeon could have stayed there forever, in that moment when time stopped holding its breath.

 

 

crossposted on [aff ](https://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1288258/10)| [tumblr ](http://excelgesis.tumblr.com/post/178301014743/free-of-any-eden-chapter-10-wc-3624)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! As always, sorry for the wait. Comic Con was in town, so I've been busy with cosplay recently tbqh, and I have another con coming up next month so....... /heavy sigh/ cosplay is a very energy-draining hobby. Like, yeah okay, I love cosplaying Weiss from RWBY but the shoes hurt my feet so much I can hardly walk the next day so is it really worth it, fam? These are the questions that haunt me. (if you like cosplay at all, or you just want to yell at me for never updating, feel free to follow my instagram @chelshire_cosplay for my mediocre cosplay adventures - okay shameless self-plug is now over phew please forgive me)
> 
> Anyway. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I'm still feeling quite iffy about it >< I worked very hard on it, though, and stayed up until about 2 am to finish it so hopefully the sleep-deprived writing isn't awful. Let me know your thoughts! You guys are all sweethearts and cuties and honestly the best people in the ENTIRE universe. Your support means the absolute world! Thank you so much for being so kind and patient, for pressing that kudos button, and for leaving such sweet comments! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story and that we can all laugh and cry with these characters together. <3


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